1^ a"^' 








o > 

% ■ 

























.^ 






^bv'^ 













<?■ * » r. O 











o_^ *s I 







^ V 
















TRACTS 



AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 



ARMY SERIES. 



V\ 



'^}: 
^ 



BOSTON: 

AlilERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1865. 






One Hundred. Copies Printed. 
No. ^O 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
Cameridgk. 



NOTE. 

These Tracts were written at the request 
of the Army Committee of the American 
Unitai'ian Association, during the Rebellion. 
They were issued in simple form, without 
covers ; and soon received from the soldiers 
the distinctive epithet of "the White Tracts." 
They obtained, however, a peculiar popu- 
larity ; and with this name, which came to 
be an affectionate sobriquet, favorably distin- 
guishing them from other kinds of religious 
reading offered in the army, these little mes- 
sengers were distributed everywhere among 
our soldiers in hospitals and camps, as widely 
as our opportunities would permit. 

The number circulated is probably not 
large as compared with that of many publi- 
cations prepared for a similar purpose ; and 
it may not be improper to recall, first, that 



IV NOTE. 

we were denied the use of the principal chan- 
nels for distribution, and could only avail 
ourselves of such individual services as were 
offered ; and second, that pains were taken 
that the tracts should not be carelessly scat- 
tered, but only given where they were likely 
to be read. 

In the aggregate, 918,750 copies were pub- 
lished. 

Tlie character and titles of the various 
tracts occasioned a difference in the degree 
of acceptance with which they were received. 
The one most called for was No. 6, of which 
110,000 were distributed ; the one next in 
demand was No. 7, of which were published 
80,000. 

One hundred copies of the whole series 
are now printed in this ampler form, for the 
satisfaction of many who desire to preserve 
them as a remembrance of this work of the 
" Army Mission." 



CONTENTS. 

No. 1. The Man and the Soldier. By Rev. George Put- 
nam, D. D. 

" 2. The Soldier of the Good Cause. By Charles Eliot 
Norton. 

" 3. The Home to the Camp : Addressed to the Soldiers of 
the Union. By Rev. John F. W. Ware. 

" 4. Liberty and Law. A Poem for the Hour. By El- 
bridge Jefferson Cutler. 

" 5. The Camp and the Field. By one of our Chaplains. 

" 6. The Home to the Hospital : Addressed to the Sick and 
Wounded of the Army of the Union. By Rev. John 
F. W. Ware. 

" 7. A Letter to a Sick Soldier, from Robert Collyer. 

" 8. An Enemy within the Lines. By Rev. S. H. Winkley. 

" 9. Wounded and in the Hands of the Enemy. By Rev. 
John F. W. Ware. 

" 10. Traitors in Camp. By the same. 

" 11. A Change of Base. By the same. 

" 12. On Picket. By the same. 

" 13. The Rebel. By the same. 



VI CONTENTS. 

No. 14. To the Color. By Rev. John F. W. Ware. 

" 15. The Recruit. By the same. 

• 16. A few Words with the Convalescent. By the same. 

" 17. The Reconnoissance. By the same. 

" 18. The Reveille. By the same. 

" 19. Rally on the Reserve ! By the same. 

" 20. Mustered out! A few Words with the Rank and File 
at Parting. By the same. 



Army Series.] [No. 1. 

THE MAN 



AND 



THE SOLDIER. 



GEORGE PUTNAM, D. D, 



BO STONs 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION, 

1861. 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 



" Show thyself a m^vn." — 1 Kings ii. 2. 

No higher or more comprehensive charge than 
this can be addressed to anybody, if we take in all 
it means. To be fully a Man, thoroughly furnished 
m all manly attributes, complete in all points of 
manly chai'acter and action, — that is the highest 
condition we can conceive of or aspire to. Man, as 
he was meant to be, and as it is possible for him to 
be, is the top and flower of God's creation. He 
includes in his being and his action all that makes 
the worth of the world, the nobleness of hfe, the 
quahties of the hero, saint, and Christian. If we 
might but attain to a completed manliness, there 
is no more left to be or do this side eternity. 
To redeem man from his degeneracy, and bring 
him up to the standard of his own nature, and re- 
store in him the powers and just proportions of his 
own being, — to that tend all the methods of God's 
providence and grace ; for that prophets preached ; 
for that Christ came and died. 



4 THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 

We see no instances of an absolute and perfect 
manhood in the world ; we see but fragments of it, 
approximations to it; but we see enough to show 
us what it is, examples of it lofty enough to inspire 
and guide our ambition, and quicken our energies 
for its attainment. 

We will try now to rise to the idea of what a 
thorough manliness is, and what qualities combine 
to produce and sustain it. 

The first quality of manliness to be considered, 
though in some respects the lowest attribute of it, 
is Physical Strength and Activity, — a good sound 
frame, in possession of all its faculties and organs, 
capable of practising all its functions. The Holy 
Spirit wants a temple worthy of itself, well built, 
well proportioned, firmly founded, fit for much ser- 
vice, to bear heavy burdens, to move on long er- 
rands, and undergo, if need be, much privation and 
suffering. The body, therefore, must be cared for, 
thoughtfully, reverently; by prudence, by temper- 
ance, it must be preserved from disease and waste 
and untimely decay ; by healthful activity and use- 
ful industry it must be knit together in compactness 
and hardihood. It must be kept undefiled and un- 
enervated by sensual excesses, — kept in a condition 
to be a supple, strong, cleanly instrument of the 
soul, whose servant and organ it is. It must be 
respected for its noble powers and uses. We are 
feai-fully and wonderfully made. The body is God's 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 5 

handiwork ; devoutly, vigorously must it be ded- 
icated to his service. It has a necessary part to 
do in the manly life. 

The next quality of manhood is Intelligence, a 
living, quick-discerning, truth-loving intellect, well 
trained and well stored. Stupidity, ignorance, and 
unreason reduce the best physical powers to the 
level of mere brute strength, and sadly defeat the 
best capabilities and intents of the soul. The 
strongest man — strongest in muscle, in will, in feel- 
ing — is but a clumsy, blind giant, unless there be a 
sagacious and well-informed mind to guide him. 

Passing now to a higher order of attributes, I 
remark that one of the prime qualities of manli- 
ness is Truthfulness of character. A man is no 
thorough man unless he be in all points a true man. 
He must be ti'usted and trustworthy. He must be 
such that his fellow-men, in all the relations of life, 
can rely upon him. He must spurn all mean tricks 
and subterfuges and arts of deception. He must 
hold himself immutably true to all trusts that he ac- 
cepts, or that are rightfully laid upon him, carrying 
them thi'ough with unswerving fidehty. The un- 
manliest of men is the traitor. He is the man whom 
all the world, with one consent, do most loathe and 
abhor. Treachery in private Hfe, as between man 
and man, or in public life, as between a man and 
his country, is instinctively and universally regarded 
as the meanest of vices and the most flagrant of 



6 THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 

erimes. The kiss of Judas is everywhere accepted 
as the type of all the most detestable actions ; and 
those words of Judas to the priests, " What will ye 
give me, and I will deliver him unto you? " are taken 
as an expression of the intensest baseness into which 
a corrupt and guilty heart can sink. There is no 
manhness without unsuUied, unapproachable, un- 
purchasable honor. A man must be true, faithful, 
loyal, immovable in rectitude and fidelity, or else 
he is no man except in form and seeming. To lie, 
to cheat, to betray, and to sell his honor for his 
pleasure or his interest, is to sell out his soul, him- 
self; his manhood is gone, and instead of being 
what he was meant to be, a little lower than the 
angels, he has become but a little higher, if at all, 
than the devils. To be a man, you must first of all 
be a true man, faithful, to the last breath of your 
nostrils and the last drop of your blood. 

Another essential quality of manhness is Cour- 
age. There is no position in life in which a man 
has not occasion to face danger, difficulty, hardship. 
He cannot do his part well in any sphere without 
courage. He must not hold his safety or his comfoii 
too dear ; he must not hold his life too dear. He 
must be able to meet hazards and terrors without 
flinching. He must be afi'aid of nothing that lies 
in the way of his duty except wrong-doing ; fear 
God, and nothing else. We are apt to imagine that 
it is only particular situations and callings in life 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 7 

that need brave men ; but in fact there is not much 
dilFerence between one calling and another in that 
respect. A coward is no man anywhere, and can- 
not do a man's part. The woman and the child, 
as such, are allowed to be timid, to shrink from 
fierce perils, and seek sheltered places, but a man 
must advance to the front, and face whatever comes. 
He is the protector of all that is weak and timid ; 
he must conquer all that is dangerous, crush all 
that is hostile. A man must not be afraid. When 
he admits fear, he abdicates his manhood. And it 
is all the same whether it be fear of personal in- 
jury, or pecuniary loss, or unpopularity, or ridicule, 
or of anything but God and his own conscience. 
When there is a duty to be done, and a man's part 
to be taken, the true man will know no fear. 
Manliness and courage ai"e words that mean one 
and the same thing. 

But then, on the other hand, in connection with 
these stern, strong quahties, and equally essential 
to a perfect manliness, there must be a certain 
Softness and Gentleness of spirit, tender-heartedness, 
warmth of affection, and quickness of sympathy. 
The work of the world is not all done by hai'd 
blows and fierce defiance and grim strength ; half 
of it is done by the exercise of mild and tender 
qualities. The strongest, bravest men that I read 
of in history — men who have levelled mountains, 
and put the armies of the aliens to flight with a 



8 THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 

mighty arm and a relentless will — have, in most 
cases, been equally distinguished by a warm- 
hearted and almost womanly tenderness. There is 
that about the strongest and bravest men which 
shows them to be most childlike, knowing how to 
keep Christ's precept of becoming as a little child. 
Under the iron armor of the true man there beats 
a soft, warm heart. Back of the tough, hard mus- 
cles, there flows a current of gentle feeUng. Brave 
men, in the best sense, are sure to be humane. 
In every great manly soul the lion and the lamb 
lie down together, and a httle child may lead them. 
The manliest face is honored and adorned by tears 
of compassion, and he who does and dai'es most 
for duty or a noble cause is sure to love most. 

Again, among the manly attributes, one is the 
spirit of Command. Every man has his appropri- 
ate sphere of authority, and must exercise it, — 
authority over events, over circumstances, over per- 
sons. Each man is a king over some realm, how- 
ever small, and therein he must reign supreme, 
exacting obedience and submission, — not ai-bitrary 
power, wantonly exercised, but the power of right, 
of reason, of position, of character. And, however 
small the external sphere of a man's authority may 
be, there is one large one which he must not abdi- 
cate nor slackly rule, and that is, himself, the in- 
ternal commonwealth, his own appetites, passions, 
imaginations, actions. The man must be absolute 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. U 

lord of himself, or he so far vacates his manhood. 
And he who does rule himself, finds himself there- 
by commissioned and empowered to rule over many- 
other persons and things. 

And then, along with the spirit of command, cor- 
relative to it, coextensive with it, there must be 
the spirit of Obedience. The first lesson of life for 
a man to learn, and the last to forget, is to obey. 
Over everybody there is an authority higher than 
his own, and to that he must render prompt and 
cheerful obedience, — obedience to law, to duty, to 
official superiors, to persons higher, wiser than him- 
self. No one is fit to command who is not prompt 
and cheerful to obey. All manliness is reverent 
and obedient, and is as prompt to renounce its own 
will on fit occasions, as to carry it out on occasions 
for which that is fit. 

And then, finally, and to crown all, a thorough 
and complete manliness cai'ries with itself a Re- 
ligious element, a sense of a power and authority 
above its own, above that of any man and of all 
men, a sense of God, as one to whom he owes 
fealty and perfect subordination, — his invisible 
Head and King. The manliest men everywhere 
are reverent and devout. The strongest are im- 
pelled to look up to what is stronger than them- 
selves. The profane and scoffing tongue and un- 
believing heart, a proud, irreligious, heaven-defying 
self-sufficiency, is unmanly and the sign of weak- 
ness. 



10 THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 

Such are the leading attributes of a true and 
completed manhood. And it is not only in a few 
important situations of peculiar difficulty and re- 
sponsibihty that such manliness is wanted. It is 
wanted everywhere ; it finds a sphere everywhere. 
Every calling, every position, wants a man in it. 
No touch of manliness is ever found superfluous or 
misplaced in any situation. In every social posi- 
tion, from highest to lowest, there is full chance 
and need to be a man, and do a man's work, and 
live a man's life. Strength, wisdom, heart, character, 
are nowhere lost ; if they exist, they tell ; and if 
they exist not, the want of them is felt, disorder 
ensues, a function is left unfulfilled, and an oppor- 
tunity is missed. No matter, comparatively, what 
or where a man is, if he but put a thorough man- 
liness into the situation. No matter what his work, 
if he but do it manfully. 

Our text addresses itself with equal fitness and 
cogency to all men in all positions. But at this 
moment, when so great numbers in all parts of 
the land are suddenly called to assume a particular 
function of manhood, and hundreds of thousands, 
at a brief warning, are summoned to quit the com- 
mon pursuits of peaceful life, and take up arms for 
the country's deliverance and safety, you will see 
that we can hardly help making special application 
of these remarks to Man as a Soldier. And I am 
still further constrained to this point by the unwont- 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 11 

ed spectacle presented here to-day, — that of armed 
men, banded and arrayed, not for a hohday show, 
but for immediate departure for the fields of ser- 
vice and the scenes of war. Under such circum- 
stances, I am sure their presence is cordially wel- 
comed by this congregation. 

Soldiers, Friends, Brothers, I am sure 
you will feel that if a noble manliness is wanted, 
and is to be preached, for all positions and employ- 
ments of life, it is wanted most especially for that 
vocation and service to which you have pledged 
yourselves. You will feel that, while every man 
should strive to be a man in this highest sense of 
manhood, the soldier needs to be twice a man. 
Let me put my text to you in all plainness. You 
do not come up here into the house of God to be 
flattered or praised for patriotic zeal, or the pro- 
gress you have made in the military art. You come, 
I trust, to think humbly and soberly of the duties 
and the exposures of a soldier's life, and in devout 
thoughtfulness to prepare yourselves to do and beai' 
your part in all fidelity and manfulness. You come 
to listen to such exhortations as the pulpit is wont 
to address to its hearers, and receive thoughtfully 
such suggestions as one older than yourselves may 
offer you. There are other scenes appropriate to 
other kinds of congratulation. Here and to-day 
you will be more than willing to forbear being 
glorified as soldiers, and to be admonished and 
counselled as men and young men. 



12 THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 

You, if anybody, have occasion now to put on 
and show forth a thorough manliness, to be manly 
at all points. If hitherto any of you, as is natural, 
have felt at liberty to indulge in the thoughtlessness 
of youth, bordering possibly upon folly, it will not 
do now. However young, you have got to show 
yourselves men now. You have taken a man's 
part upon you, and you must carry it out. Let 
me go over with you some of the traits of manli- 
ness which we have been considering. 

The first thing, you will agree with me in saying, 
is to show forth manly courage. You must be 
brave ; you must not know any such thing as fear, 
not turn your back on any danger. You have 
something higher than your own safety to think of. 
You must go whither you are led, holding your 
life in your hand. You had better never have 
put on your country's livery, you had better strip 
it off now at the start, than to go trembling to your 
work, or with any touch of cowardice at your heart. 
Cowardice is a detestable and fatal fault anywhere, 
in a soldier's life most of all. The soldier must be 
every inch a man on this point. 

Then next, a soldier must be a true man. You 
will be called on to take a solemn oath of fidelity, 
which you must cherish as more sacred than your 
life. You will be sworn men. The country trusts 
you, commits its dearest interests, the very ark of 
its salvation, to your hands. Swear in your very 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 13 

hearts tbat, as God shall help you, you will be true, 
true to your country, true to the laws of the service, 
true to your colors, true to your commanders, true 
to your comrades, true to every duty, true and 
loyal in all things, up to the high mark of a perfect 
manliness. 

It will be a part of your fidelity, as soldiers and 
as men, to render strict, unquestioning, instant obe- 
dience to the orders of your mihtaiy superiors. In 
all matters that pertain to the service of the field 
or the camp, you must have no will but to obey. 
So far as you may be intrusted with any authority, 
little or much, exercise it firmly, and demand obe- 
dience, but in turn render it cheerfully and without 
evasion. 

But no rules or orders can relieve you of the 
necessity of taking strict and conscientious care of 
yourselves. You must take care of your own bodies 
and health. You want to maintain and increase 
your bodily strength for your own sakes and your 
country's. 

It is remarked by the medical commission ap- 
pointed by this State to consult for the health of 
the troops, that in war, for every one that is killed 
by the enemy, three die of disease ; and of those 
three, one at least, and perhaps two, owe their sick- 
ness to their own imprudence. I earnestly charge 
you to observe the medical advice and precautions 
which will be given you, as to food and drink 



14 THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 

and clothing and exposures. Avoid all thoughtless 
self-indulgences that you are warned will be injuri- 
ous. In many things you cannot do as you have 
done at home. I observe that the medical commis- 
sion I have referred to urgently advises the troops 
to abstain, while they are in ser\'ice, from the use 
of ardent spii'its ; and they know best what is safe 
and prudent for you. Do not trifle with life or 
health in any respect. If you must spend weary 
weeks or months in the hospital while your com- 
rades are in the field, it Avill be hard enough to 
bear, without the harrowing reflection that you 
brought it upon yourselves. You must practise a 
rigid self-denial, and rule manfully your own ap- 
petites and inchnations, and take thought for your- 
selves ten times where heretofore you have done 
it once. TiU the war is over your country claims 
you, wants you, — wants you in perfect health, 
wants your strong arms and hardy frames, able to 
do a man's whole work in this great strife. You 
have no right now, solemnly dedicated as you are 
to your country, to take any careless risks of your 
health and strength. You are not your own prop- 
erty now, to waste or to thi'ow away. The country 
accepts you as men, and men you must show your- 
selves and keep yourselves. 

I said one part of a perfect manliness consists in 
intelHgence, education, knowledge. Let the soldier 
improve his mind to the utmost of his opportunities. 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 15 

Many books will be provided in the camp ; select 
wisely from them, and give some of your leisure 
to reading. Seek instruction, — infoi'mation. Use 
well your opportunities of observation, — of men, of 
things, of events, and the regions of country which 
you pass through or abide in, — so as to come back 
with better-stored minds than you went with, and 
your faculties strengthened and enlarged. 

And be still more careful concerning your Moral 
principles and conduct. You must meet temptation 
with a manly strength of resistance. Wrong things, 
which you would not think of doing at home, think 
not of doing because you are away from home. 
If parents and friends cannot watch over you, you 
must watch over yourselves with tenfold vigilance ; 
and remember that the all-seeing eye of God is 
upon you everywhere. The soldiers of Massachu- 
setts should be exemplary, and must not permit 
themselves to bring any dishonor upon her fair 
fame by personal immorality or irreligion. Carry 
with you and maintain all that is good in the in- 
fluences of the community which you have left. I 
counsel you, as far as is compatible with the duties 
of the service, to keep the Sabbath day, and use its 
opportunities for self-examination, for good resolu- 
tions, for needful repentances, and for the refresh- 
ing of all those tender and sacred affections and 
memories that keep the heart in health. Surely 
the soldier, devoted as he is to a sacred cause, and 



16 THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 

exposed as he is to be called without a moment's 
warning into the scenes of eternity, and before the 
judgment-seat of God, — the soldier, if anybody, 
should carry Avith him a sense of God's presence, — 
should banish all profaneness from his Ups, — should 
commit himself devoutly to the keeping of Divine 
Providence, — should put his trust on high, and 
seek in all he does, and in all his ways, to approve 
himself to his Maker and Judge. 

These things which I have recommended to you 
are the things which, if you obsei've them, will 
make men of you, men of the truest, noblest stamp. 
If you slight them, it is so much deduction ft-om 
the strength and honor and comehness of a true 
manhood. 

We trust and pray that amid all dangers your 
lives will be spared, and that you will return in 
safety and honor to your homes. And if you 
should so return when your work is done, be it 
not — so far as lies with you to prevent it — be it 
not with bodies shattered and constitutions broken 
through imprudence or needless exposure. Be it 
not with idle or immoral habits, that would make 
you forever after a drag and a burden to your 
friends and the community. But be it, if possible, 
with strength in your limbs and health in your 
countenance. Be it with more enlightened minds. 
Be it with habits of industry, and thoughtfulness, 
and self-denial, and moral purity, and religious rev- 



THE MAN AND THE SOLDIER. 17 

erence, — all strengthened by the discipline of the 
war ; so that afterwai'ds you may be better citizens, 
better sons and brothers and husbands and fathers 
through all your lives, for having been soldiers in 
your youth. 

We wish you success, for your success is ours 
and your country's. Be men to achieve it, and 
when your task is done, and the victory is secure, 
conduct yourselves so well and manfully that in 
your after years you shall be qualified to act the 
manly part in life the more manfully, and to enjoy 
and adorn the good results which you shall have 
helped to win. Show yourselves men now, that 
you may be true and honorable and happy men 
then. And God's blessing be upon you! Our 
prayers shall follow you forth upon your march. 
Let each one act the man, and come back a man 
in the highest sense of manliness, and our heartiest 
thanks and congratulations shall await him, and 
attend him all his life ; — and a better approbation 
than ours shall descend upon liim. 



Army Series.] [No. 2. 

THE SOLDIER 



OF 



THE GOOD CAUSE. 



BY 



CHARLES ELIOT NORTON. 



BOSTON: 
AMEEICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1861. 



THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 



The main characteristic of the war in which we 
of the Free States are engaged is that it is a war 
of the people. It is not a war of a class, a party, 
or a dynasty. In its most obvious aspect, as a war 
for the defence of the Constitution and the Union, 
of established authority and regular government, 
against the attacks of a defeated, insolent, and un- 
principled party, or in its essential nature as a war 
for the extending and establishing of hberty and 
justice, it is alike the cause of the people, demand- 
ing and receiving their efforts, then' means, and 
their blood to carry it to a happy issue. It " is not 
called amiss the Good Old Cause," for it is but the 
latest incident in that struggle, of which all modern 
history is the record, between the selfish interests 
of individuals or a class, and the common interests 
of mankind ; between despotism and freedom ; be- 
tween privileges and rights ; between error and 
truth. It is the modern phase of the contest in 
which the best men have fought on battle-fields and 
in councils, with the sword and the written or 



4 THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 

spoken word, with various fortune, but with uncon- 
querable courage and unwearied exertion. In this 
contest Sidney fell gallantly at Zutphen, Cromwell 
conquered at Marston Moor, Milton lost his eyes 
overplied in his noble task, "Winthrop and his com- 
panions laid the foundations of a new commonwealth, 
Hampden sacrificed fortune and life, and Washing- 
ton set the perfect example of heroic self-devotion. 
And now the privilege of carrying on this struggle, 
of advancing this cause, is given to us. The hopes 
of the future are confided for the moment to our 
hands. To us the exhortations of the patriots and 
martyrs of liberty in past times are addressed, and 
for us their hves are lessons and encouragements. 

And as this is, above all, the cause of popular 
rights and institutions, so it is fitting that our sol- 
diers should be, as happily they are, drawn from the 
very heart of the people. Our battles are not to 
be fought by hirehngs and mercenaries. The war 
forced upon us so suddenly is not to be carried on 
by a military class or by a standing army inured to 
service, but it has to be fought by soldiers hurriedly 
summoned from every class of life. Our army is 
the representative, in its heterogeneous composition, 
of the people itself. Native-born and adopted citi- 
zens, laborers and mechanics, students and plough- 
men, men tenderly nurtured and men roughly bred, 
stand shoulder to shoulder in the ranks, each equally 
ready and eager to do his part in the work for his 



THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 5 

country and for liberty. But such an army, so 
hastily brought together, of men so unused to the 
profession of war, though it be full of patriotic 
spirit and resolute determination, though it be one 
which carries with it the hearts and the confidence 
of the whole people, is not likely at first to be so 
effective as one composed of troops of less individ- 
ual worth, but longer trained and more accustomed 
to the use of arms. Enthusiasm wiU not supply 
the place of disciphne, and there is need of more 
than a good cause when it comes to the push. 

As a nation we have so neglected the profession 
of war, we have been so busy in the pursuits of 
peace, we have regarded ourselves as so safe against 
the dangers of foreign invasion and of civil discord, 
that the true military spirit has become almost 
extinct among us, and its place has been occupied 
by a false spirit of security, indifference, and boast- 
fulness. We have been growing rich and weak, at 
the same time. We have thought to buy immunity 
from war ; we have paid heavy prices for quiet ; 
and at length we find that the bargain was a fraud, 
and that the peace we have purchased by base 
compromise and cowardly concession was but a 
hollow and treacherous truce. Happy for us that 
the delusion has not lasted too long, and that now, 
when the truth is discovered, and the call comes 
to us to arms, we are ready to seize them, though 
we be little prepared to use them. 



6 THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 

The dragon's teeth that the South has been 
sowmg so long have indeed sprung up in a wonder- 
ful crop of armed men ; but a man in uniform, with 
rifle and bayonet, is not a soldier. The profession 
of which such a man has only put on the dress is 
one that, like every other profession, requires a 
peculiar training, if it is to be successfully pursued. 
Its training is of the spu-it as well as of the body, 
and is not comprised in the manoeuvres of mihtia 
musters or the practice of regimental drill. Our 
soldiers have to learn how to be soldiers, and the 
nation requires to be taught the uses and tlie real 
meaning of war. The notion that any number of 
raw recruits form an army is an absurd one, and it 
seems likely to be done away with by bitter expe- 
rience. Even Washington himself, the most patient 
and the most experienced commander of fresh troops, 
declared that undisciplined forces are nothing more 
than " a destructive, expensive, and disorderly mob." 
The saying of C}tus, as reported by Xenophon, 
is as true to-day as it was in ancient times, that 
" it is not the number of men, but the number of 
good men, that gives the advantage." 

It has been well said that " Discipline is the soul 
of an army " ; and in order that disciphne may be 
efficient the first duty of a soldier is obedience. To 
this duty the soldier is bound, not only by the oath 
in which he swears to bear true faith and allegiance 
to the United States of America, to serve them 



THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 7 

honestly and faithfully against their enemies and op- 
posers whomsoever, and, (to quote its very words,) 
that "I wiU observe and obey the orders of the 
President of the United States, and the orders of 
the officers appointed over me," — but also by a 
just and intelligent sense of the nature and demands 
of the Ufe he has chosen. The military profession 
has this noble superiority to aU others, that it is in 
its essence a life of voluntary self-sacrifice. The 
spirit of independence which is so cherished amongst 
us, and so often carried to foolish and injurious 
excess, so often serving but as the disguise of self- 
ishness and false pretension, is shown by the true 
soldier in its jBnest form. He exhibits it in the 
choice he makes to give up his own freedom of 
action, and in the ready alacrity of his obedience 
to the commands of his officers. He shows it in 
the cheerfulness of his submission, — not only to 
orders, but to privations ; in his fidelity to his work, 
in his high and honorable sense of duty. There is 
no true independence in that disposition which is 
constantly inchned to assert itself in resistance to 
estabhshed authorities and rightful restraints; but 
true and manly independence finds in these very 
restraints, and in the performance of just commands, 
the means to display and to develop the best quaU- 
ties of individual character, and to achieve the 
aims of a pure ambition. The independent man is 
he whose soul is as ready to submit to and obey 



8 THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 

legal and necessary authority, as it is to resist an 
unjust and tyrannous exercise of power. The 
soldier loses not a jot of his independence in obe- 
dience. Whatever the order be, he fulfils it with 
good will. It may be a blunder, and he may see 
it to be so, but it is not for him to redress it. He 
has only to execute it as well as it can be executed. 
The charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava, 
which shall be held in immortal memory among 
men, is a noble example of this prompt and thor- 
ough obedience. 

" ' Forward, the Light Brigade ! ' 
Was there a man dismayed ? 
Not though the soldier knew 
Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not the reason why, 
Theirs but to do or die, — 
Into the valley of Death 
Eode the six hundred." 

It has been said that the very intelligence of our 
men, their habit of judging for themselves, and of 
acting on their own judgments, unfit them for mak- 
ing good soldiers, as rendering them averse to that 
obedience which is their fii'st duty. But, if they 
be truly intelligent, they will understand that they 
must honestly confoi'm to the necessities of their 
new profession, and that not only success, but safety, 
depends on their unquestioning obedience. The 
good soldier's first sacrifice is that of his individual 
will. 



THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 9 

It is tliis resolute obedience which gives confi- 
dence to each man in the ranks that he will be 
supported by every other man in his regiment. 
He is not one out of a thousand men each acting 
on his own impulse, but a thousand are with him, 
and his strength and stroke are a thousand-fold 
repeated. One word gives vigor to a thousand 
arms, and one order is answered by a flash from 
a thousand rifles. 

It is thus that obedience connects itself with, and 
serves as the foundation of, that soldierly sympathy 
of each man with his companions, which is kno\vn 
as esprit de corps. This is that brotherhood which 
unites in mutual confidence, in generous affection 
and ambition, the individuals of a regiment ; which 
gives a common spirit to their body, and moulds 
them into one living organization. Each has a 
share in the common dangers and glories, and upon 
each the praise of all is reflected. The colors of 
the regiment, its guns, become invested by tliis spuit 
with an almost sacred worth. A rag of bunting, 
toi'n by shot and blackened by powder, or a cannon 
battered and broken by opposing artillery, are pre- 
cious in the eyes of the true soldier, as the emblems 
and signals of his own and his comrades' valor and 
devotion, the tokens of duty bravely done, of brave 
deeds yet to do. " Where his colors go, there he 
will follow, and where they are surrounded, there, 
with them or upon them, he will remam." He 



10 THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 

may fall, but his regiment sui*vives. Its honor is 
his own, and to have served in its ranks is to be 
illustrious among men. 

It is not fame or reputation that the true soldier 
mainly seeks. They are but the uncertain and 
fleeting accidents of his profession. His aim is to 
be honorable, not to be honored ; to be brave, 
not to win reputation of courage. It is not for 
show that the soul is to play its part. " The es- 
sence of greatness is to feel that virtue is enough." 
Honor is a spiritual thing, it is not in the gift of 
man, its fountain is God. There is nothing that 
is not cheap and poor in comparison with it. Loss, 
privation, suffering, are cheerfully borne for its 
sake, and life itself may well be sacrificed to gain 
it. It is the proud distinction of the soldier's pro- 
fession that he makes it his first and constant object. 
The good soldier carries his life in his hand, ready 
to exchange it for honor, and he is thus always 
the witness to its inestimable worth. He is the 
example from which other men take their lessons 
in its pursuit. He yields liis affections, his inter- 
ests, his hopes, his all, to its claims. In the tumult 
of battle, in the temptations of the camp, he never 
loses sight of it. Honor flings her white robe of 
purity around him, and in the distress of pain and 
the very agony of death she clasps him to her 
consoling bosom. 

The eold common-sense of the world knows not 



THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 11 

the great joy of the good soldier's life and death. 
The sense of danger undergone for the sake of the 
reward of honor won is a glorious exultation. Com- 
mon sense, which counts its heap of copper gains, 
knows not the golden prizes of the battle-field. 
The honorable soldier has no fear. He cannot be 
defeated. He wiU stand to his guns though the 
last man has been shot at his side, and in his death 
he will have the delight of triumph. His courage 
knows no faltering. The weakness of his blood 
may make his knees tremble and liis cheek grow 
pale, but his heart is constant and secure in its 
inviolable mail. No weariness can break him down, 
no long watches make him sleep on his post. His 
ready courage is not a sudden and transient passion, 
is not stimulated by revenge or anger, is not the 
brutal rage of the bully or the tinsel bravery of the 
boaster. It is not a start of the soul, but a resolute 
and constant habit, a firm virtue founded in princi- 
ple and character. The real hero is he who never 
gives in. The only genuine heroism is that which 
persists to the end. Courage and the love of honor 
are interwoven together, and their roots spring from 
the same soil of self-respect and trust in God. 

Shall it be said that this ideal of the good soldier 
is too high to be attained ? that to demand such a 
spirit of obedience, of brotherhood, of honor and 
of courage, is to ask too much of our common 
soldier ? He must answer for himself. The cause 



12 THE SOLDIEE OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 

in which, our soldiers are engaged deserves to be 
fought for by the best men. And the army which 
has poured itseh' from the North to meet the South- 
ern forces of barbarism and slavery is such as was 
never before seen. Are the Stars and Stripes, the 
banner of civilization, liberty, and justice, to be 
carried to victory by an undisciplined rabble of men 
serving for monthly pay, and thirsting for booty and 
blood; or by an army of men conscious of their 
duty, animated by a conviction of their respon- 
sibiUties, and strong in virtuous resolve ? Is the 
day of Bull Eun to be the type of coming days 
of battle? On the answer rest the hopes of future 
times. 

There is but one way in which our soldiers can 
make themselves worthy of our cause and of our 
country ; but one way in which they can secure the 
virtue that is required of them. Enthusiasm for 
the flag, devotion to the Union, indignation against 
traitors, patriotic pride, an honest love of liberty 
and hate of slavery, the spirit of emulation or of 
manly shame, may supply motives of more or less 
force, and of unequal worth, to the mass of men 
who have gone to the war. But such incitements 
ai'C of too external a character to form a safe and 
sufficient reliance in this great contest. They must 
be associated with motives of deeper and more 
spu'itual origin. Our war is in its real nature a 
religious war, and our soldiers must acknowledge 



THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 13 

themselves to be not only the soldiers of the United 
States, but the soldiers of the Lord. To them God 
has committed a great charge, and as his children 
and servants they must perform it. Great virtues 
are demanded of them, and it is matter of rejoicing 
that no meaner call is made. "The occasion of 
any great vu'tue cometh but on festivals." To be 
the worthy champion of this noble cause, to be the 
fit sharer in this great festival, a man must carry 
with him the assurance that he is acting in the 
immediate presence, and as the commissioned soldier 
of God. "With this assurance, there is no ideal 
perfection too high for him to aim at, and no posses- 
sion of virtue too difficult for him to obtain. " God 
with us " is the motto on our flag, distinct to the 
eye of the spirit. " God with us," — what shall 
prevail against us? 

In the bustle of life in camp, in daily drill, in 
the trivial, annoying details of duty, in the mixed 
company of men, in the temptations of idleness, 
in the presence of open vice, in the unchecked 
opportunities for the indulgence of criminal pas- 
sions, in tlie display of bad examples, it is difficult 
to retain the sense of the nearness of God. But 
according to the difficulty so is the reward of attain- 
ment. The difficulty is the test of worth and man- 
liness. "Without temptation there is no real virtue ; 
without resistance, no increase of strength ; without 
self-command, no self-respect. The soldier of the 



14 THE SOLDIER OF THE GOOD CAUSE. 

Lord is not a bigot, nor self-righteous ; he is the 
pleasantest, because the happiest, of companions. 
He does not set himself up as better than others, 
but is modest with a reserved and simple self- 
confidence. He makes neither a secret nor a boast 
of the source of his strength. He is helpful, gener- 
ous, vigilant, and not less eager to learn than ready 
to perform his duty; — 

" More pure 
As tempted more ; more able to endure 
As more exposed to suffering and distress ; 
Thence also more alive to tenderness." 

There is nothing in danger or alarm to disturb 
or affright him. On the sohtary watch, his eye 
is alert and his spirit steady ; in the sudden alarm, 
he does not lose the even balance of his mind, and 
in utmost emergency he can depend upon himself. 
In the assault he is foremost, and he will lead the 
forlorn hope with a step as hght and hapjjy as a 
lover's. Neither the shout of the enemy, nor the 
rattle of musketry, nor the roar of the cannon, can 
disturb the quiet of his soul. He looks at death 
face to face, and finds nothing but what is friendly 
in her countenance. And if he fall, he falls at the 
foot of his country's flag with a smile that bears 
witness to his joy that his life has been accepted as 
a sacrifice in his country's cause, the divine cause 
of justice, liberty, and humanity. 



Army Series.] [No. 3. 

THE 



HOME TO THE CAMP: 



ADDRESSED 



CiJ i\ii ^aMtxn ai t^^ ^n;btt» 



JOHN F. W. WARE. 



BOSTON: 
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1861. 



THE HOME TO THE CAMP, 

GREETING i 

Soldiers, Friends, Brothers ! — 

A LITTLE while ago you were here with us and 
of us, — husbands, fathers, brothers. We knew you 
as our daily companions. To your strong love we 
looked, in your sti'ong arm we trusted. Others knew 
you as merchants, mechanics, manufacturers ; we 
knew you as the central figures of our homes, — our 
pride, our solace, our support. To-day we miss you. 
We gather at our meals, or around the evening 
table, and your place is vacant. In a thousand ways 
we feel that you are gone, and the world outside — 
its places of traffic, its circles of friendship, its houses 
of prayer — mourns an absence which subtracts as 
much from its pleasure as its power. There are 
great gaps in our hearts and our homes, which can- 
not be closed because of you. It is not like the void 
death makes. The old places are kept open and 
warm for you. You are only absent, and we wait 
and watch ; daily and nightly we pray for you, — 
for your safety and your good, and your speedy com- 
ing to us again. ho. 8. 



4 THE VOICE OF HOME 

Your absence is peculiar. You have turned 
from endearments, from prosperities, from plans, 
and Lave put in peril property, comfort, life, and 
health. The great mother who bore and nurtured 
us in her sore sorrow has cried for help, and you 
have answered to the cry and are sworn to rescue. 
Voluntarily offering your service, or selected by 
the laws of your country, you are now in arms for 
her defence. 

If your absence is peculiar, so is our memory of 
you. In your knapsacks, in secret pockets about 
your person, you have all some cherished token of 
thoughtful affection. The cry of '■'■ Mail!" in the 
camp brings the weary to their feet, and makes the 
■whole man aglow with a longing hope, and the dear 
and tender words that swim before your eyes waken 
memories, not to subdue, but to make still nobler, 
your resolve. And beside, — as never into camp 
before, — there comes from time to time, breaking 
the monotony of army rations, something that the 
good mother, the dear wife, the gentle sister, re- 
members was your special fancy, which their own 
hands have made and their own thought sent, while 
their hearts were full at thinking how it would put 
you in mind of home. But we have now other 
things than these for you, and though they may 
seem only to be words, yet to words, having the 
savor of love and faith, even the salvation of man 
has been intrusted. Will you take kindly of us 
what we give in honesty and hope ? 



TO THE ABSENT FROM HOME. O 

More than two years are passed since we found 
that the threats so long made had a meaning, and 
that we were only to hold our homes and our liber- 
ties, the privileges and blessings our fathers be- 
queathed us, through conflict and blood. Many of 
the noblest from all parts of our land, spurning the 
employments and endearments of life, have gone 
forward to the duty and peril of camp and of field, 
and all up and down the land green graves to-day 
attest their fidelity, while dark homes and sad hearts 
mourn over lost treasures. Never did cause de- 
mand costlier sacrifice, — never was costly sacrifice 
more freely yielded. That country is safe which has 
only to ask for such service, which can make no de- 
mand of her children they are not ready to answer. 

The demand is made now of you. Battle, dis- 
ease, exposure, have thinned the ranks of our ar- 
mies. The veterans of many fields ask for help. 
They look to you. You will not flinch. Some 
quick, sharp blows must yet be struck. The foe 
stands obdurate and unyielding. We have done 
much, but there is yet more to do. Stronghold 
after stronghold has fiiUen, the flower of families 
and of armies has been swept away by our cannon, 
or by disease and exposure, want seems staring 
them in the face, and yet they hold their hate for 
us, they renew their purpose to resist, to conquer, 
and with sturdy manhood stand and defy us. Who 
can fail to admire such devotion ? who fail to regret 
that it should so be wasted ? who but will feel hirr 



6 THE VOICE OF HOME 

self called to new duty and fidelity, that the sooner 
this fearful struggle may be closed, and the absent 
from home come in peace again, and under the old 
roof find shelter and rest? 

The real work now begins. You are weaned 
from your homes, you are used to camp fare and 
life. You are soldiers, and something of the rights, 
privileges, as well as position of the citizen must 
be for the time yielded. 

Here comes your first trial. To enter the ser- 
vice under excitement, from the pressure of neces- 
sity, or a sense of duty, is one thing ; but to find 
that as soldiers you are obliged for a time to sur- 
render certain rights and privileges which every 
American comes to consider as a part of his liberty, 
to find that you, who have scarcely submitted to any 
self-government, must come under the government 
of men, sometimes your inferiors, — this is no mean 
trial. But remember it is not the men whom you 
come under, not the men whom you must obey, but 
the laws, the restrictions of a service of which these 
men are the servants. At most they apply to you 
the law found by long experience the best adapted 
to carry out the purpose desired. It is not their 
whim, their will, which stands in before your old 
liberty, but law, which for the time being, for the 
good, for the safety of all, must be imperative. 
The commander-in-chief, as all his subordinates, 
serve and yield implicitly to that law. 

And now vou will find the mistake we have all 



TO THE ABSENT FROM HOME. 7 

made, in insisting so much upon individual, personal 
liberty. We have educated ourselves into the idea 
that we are " as good as anybody." "We will call 
no man master, but think, speak, do, just as we 
please. The results of all this are disastrous enough 
in ordinary life. At this critical moment, they fill 
our armies with men who have to learn to obey. 
We know how hard this will be, yet we have con- 
fidence that you will set yourselves earnestly about 
the disagreeable duty. There can be no order, 
there can be no safety, there can be no victory, 
without obedience. Sink for the time your boasted 
independence, — a prime ingredient in manhood, we 
all feel, when rightly managed, — and content your- 
selves with the humble position of the instrument, 
which may not question, hesitate, or refuse, but 
must do what the hand puts it to. War, unnatural 
in its existence and all its deeds, compels the yield- 
ing of many things fundamental to success in peace. 
Not only must some laws be silent, but certain dear 
privileges and rights stand aside and wait. The 
insubordination of individuals and of bodies has 
disgusted and alarmed us. We have felt it as a 
personal thing. It disgraces you with us. It tells 
against the cause. We feel, however, that they 
were things of the green tree, and are confident 
that, when used to the new necessity, you will see 
how brave it is to submit. The first sharp curtail- 
ing of an almost lawless Uberty, the first unpleas- 
ant conviction that you cannot longer follow your 



8 THE VOICE OF HOME 

own will, must indeed be hard. But, you know, 
the Apostle says that a " good soldier endures hard- 
ness." He spoke of the Roman soldier, fighting in 
a cause in which he had no personal stake, in which 
he was simply carrying out the will of some im- 
perial Caesar. You are fighting in your own cause. 
Not a man among you but has his all at stake. 
Shall the coward thought of hardness creep as a 
paralysis upon your loyalty? Grumblings, com- 
plainings, unreasonableness, are camp-followers, 
powerless for good, but mighty for evil, which 
each one of you owes it to his manhood to rise 
against and utterly expel. They are traitors and 
rebels, a thousand-fold more dangerous than those 
who wear the garb and are arrayed beneath the 
banner of the foe. Not the mere sentiment of loy- 
alty to the Jlag does your country now demand ; 
but, under every circumstance, obedience, — and be 
"sure that we at home appreciate your position and 
will applaud the sacrifice. 

That there have been annoyances, grievances, 
over and above the hardships inseparable from 
your condition, we feel as keenly as you. But it 
was not possible to create an army perfect in all 
its details at the moment of demand. Self-seeking, 
inefficient, cowardly men thrust themselves before 
their betters into places of command or trust, and 
you have suffered, shamefully suffered. We feel 
that, and our rulers feel it. As fast as is possible 
these men are being removed and the evil they 



TO THE ABSENT FROM HOME. 9 

have done remedied. As a general thing you have 
nobly borne all, and we whose sympathies are quick 
and keen are now rejoicing at the changed tone of 
the letters we have from you. As your new yoke 
settles to its place, you find it easier than you had 
supposed. You are getting wonted, accepting the 
hardship that is inevitable, confident that what can 
be done will be done for you. In this you ai'e only 
just. You form an army gone out from the sym- 
pathy and affection of homes, — not aliens to us, 
not our hireluigs, but bone of our bone, flesh of our 
flesh, — and think you we will intermit our thought 
and efibrt for you until every possible good shall 
be secured ? Tou are our charge. Our rulers are 
but our servants ; if they falter, if they fail, if they 
are false toward you, we stand behind, and you 
shall feel that our warm love can reach and hold 
you still. And we feel sure that, though there will 
continue to be exceptions, you will find the officers 
whom the governmemt allows in authority over you 
will be men not only well up in the drill, and true 
in the hour of danger, but men considerate of you. 
Would to God that we could hope that they might 
all lead in other things as in the battle ! 

And do not think the sacrifice wholly on your 
part. We at home have our hardness to endure. 
It may seem as if he who stood against battery and 
bayonet, and was familiar with the exposures of 
camp and march and bivouac and night and storm, 
had the sacrifices to himself. The home has its 



10 THE VOICE OF HOME 

sacrifices too, — its joint ofiering to the cause, dif- 
fering rather in the kind than in the amount of the 
cost. The selfish, mean man will take care that he 
gives up nothing to the general good ; but the re- 
cording angel marks down daily noble deeds in 
humble homes, which, though they shall find no 
place of mention in the war-bulletins, shall stand 
gi-aved indehbly upon the book of life. And these 
homes stand ready to do yet more ; and if the stem 
hour shall come, there are those here — men of 
every rank and every age, whom other duties now 
hold back — who will be with you, arm to arm, 
heart to heart, to fill with you, if it must be, the 
last ditch over which the tramplers upon the rights 
of man shall march to their accursed victory. But 
no such victory shall be. The cause that is just 
God will crown with success. We have smitten 
them on the land, on the river, by the sea. The 
tramp of our victorious legions, the thunders of our 
navy, send trembling and terror to the guilty hearts 
of the parricides, while he, the arch traitor, as Bel- 
shazzar of old, stands aghast at the handwriting he 
need call no prophet to interpret. 

We will not conceal from you that there 
are many among us who are apprehensive of 
the efiect of camp-life upon your moral charac- 
ter and your after usefulness. From other 
wars men have returned to be a burden and a 
curse ; such men will return from this ; but the 
large majority of you we expect will be wiser 



TO THE ABSENT FKOM HOME. 11 

and better for this experience, — truer to home, 
truer to the world and to God. There is every 
reason why it should be so. The temptations, great, 
new, peculiar, and terrible, that are about you are 
not invincible ; and it is a libel on the word soldier 
to make it the synonyme of depravity. The regular 
soldier, divorced for years from the sympathies of 
home, the interests of civil life, fighting his trade, 
with long and terrible intervals of idleness, without 
resource, may become — we should almost say must 
become — the easy prey of vices which lurk in other 
places as well as camps. But you are not regular 
soldiers ; this is not your trade. You have re- 
source. You are no hirelings ; but you strike for 
home, and the home you would defend in turn would 
help to shield you from that which has power to 
cast the soul into hell. Undoubtedly, many of you 
understand your own peril. Let us show you such 
as seem to us to come from your isolation from 
other influences, your association among yourselves, 
and the character of your occupation. 

Ever since Christianity has disenthralled woman 
and lifted her to her place as at least man's equal, 
it has been found that communities from which 
woman is excluded are exposed to special moral 
depravity. There is a controlling influence in her 
presence of which we are as httle conscious as of 
the controlUng influence of the laws of gravity. 
Where she is absent, man soon loses ground as a 



12 THE VOICE OF HOME 

moral being. California was redeemed from the 
terrible vices and ci'imes which once gave it bad 
pre-eminence, more by the advent of Avoman than 
by tlie ministration of law ; and history is full of 
the evil of the monkish system. Woman can have 
no place in the camp. She may be the ready 
angel of the hospital " when pain and anguish wring 
the brow," she cannot be counsel and comforter 
when temptations and worries come. If you see 
her about the camp at all it is mostly as she is 
degraded, ruined, — the foulest ruin in the bright 
universe of God. You must take your stand with- 
out her, — without that which at home is so much 
your safeguard, — and single-handed face the wily 
foe. If you will wrlch yourselves wisely; if you 
will let dear home memories and tender home words 
have their way upon you ; if you will never let 
thought or word or deed sin against her purity, — 
this very season of separation and jjeril may turn 
to yoiu' best good. Absent, she may have a better 
power than when present, and you may come back 
to her more justly to appreciate her fidelity and love. 
You know what men are apt to say of women when 
they get together, and we know how the demon of 
lust may be waked in the battle-hour. Watch well 
the first, and if dark temptation to the last shall 
come, may spirit of mother or wife or sister — a 
still voice from home — save your victim and save 
your soul ! 



TO THE ABSENT FROM HOME. 13 

As you have gone from us, the bearing of the 
many has been all that we could ask, — cheerful, 
sober, resolved. But it was painful to see that 
others could go away to such a duty in reckless or 
stupid intoxication, and we know that much of the 
trouble and shame we have had to meet have come 
of this. No step taken by your officers has been 
more cordially approved at home than the closing 
of drinking-places, and individual efibrt by precept 
and example to induce the men to abandon the 
evil thing has been fully appreciated here. With a 
thrill of joy we read that, when in the city of New 
York some gentlemen remonstrated with the com- 
mander of a Massachusetts regiment for dismissing 
his men for some hor.rs to the fascinations of the 
metropolis, the confident reply was, " My men will 
every one of them he back, and every one of them he 
soher" That man commanded soldiers, — men of 
self-respect and self-control ; that man may lead 
his command anywhere, and trust them to the death. 
"Why shall not every commander have the same 
trust ? The man who drinks doubles his exposure 
to every form of casualty. Cold, heat, wounds, 
exposure, disease, lay terrible hands on him ; body 
and brain become decrepit, duty and life a burden, 
while shame is brought upon your calling, upon 
your comrades, upon your homes. We ask you 
to save yourselves and us; to remember that by 
intoxication you disgrace your manhood, you dis- 
grace your calling, you disgrace the cause. 



14 THE VOICE OF HOME 

That other great camp peril, — gambling, — which 
we see already has commenced its insidious work, 
we shall hope to keep in check by providing other 
and healthy amusements for leisure hours. Books, 
even religious books, are not all you want. There 
are intervals between hard work or great excitement 
when one cannot read, nor yet be idle, when an 
evil thing is chosen because the good is absent. 
The army should be furnished amply with the 
means of healthy amusement, just as important to 
you as to Dr. Kane's sailors in the Arctic Sea. 

Government has shown its interest in you by 
sending you equipped and attended as no army be- 
fore. It not merely provides you sufficient clothing, 
but with more than you can eat. The surplus may 
be exchanged for luxuries or commuted into cash. 
Of its own will it has raised the soldier's wages. Lib- 
eral beyond all precedent to you, no real want that 
it has not provided for, it leaves you the oppor- 
tunity, it furnishes you with the incentive to fru- 
gahty, it is busy with means to help you secure 
your pay to those who need it at home. Second 
such care by your own prudence. Allow yourselves 
in no foohsh or wicked expense, but show home 
how you still prize it by the fulness of your re- 
mittance. 

Perhaps the crowning work of the government in 
your behalf is the creation of a Sanitary Committee, 
which, as an angel of life, seems hovering over a field 



TO THE ABSENT FR03I HOME. 15 

SO long abandoned to the angel of death. Disease, 
not the bullet or the sword, decimates armies, — the 
foe unseen rather than the foe seen, — and yet it may 
be outmanoeuvred, baffled, as sui'cly as the squadron 
in the field. Only it wants knowledge and action. 
A few simple laws exactly obeyed, and your camp is 
as free from malaria and contagion as your home. 
In every way, what can be done for the alleviation 
of the necessary evils of your position, government 
has amply, wisely, tenderly done. And it has not 
limited itself to the care of the body. Faitliful 
chaplains — men known to us, mostly, as valuable 
and successful in their vocation — have been ap- 
pointed to go with you, to warn, instruct, encourage, 
and soothe ; not to stand aloof as preachers, but to 
be with you in every scene, your daily companions, 
— not to take from you any necessity of personal 
piety, but to show to you, standing iu hourly peril, — 
you, who may be so near to death, — the necessity 
as well as the propriety of making, yourselves, your 
calling and election sure. Your Bibles go with you 
to the battle, in more sense than one, your shield in 
peril. In vain shall the Sanitary Committee tell 
you how to escape disease, unless you shall do as 
they say ; in vain shall these others show you how 
to escape sin, unless you choose to do as they show. 
The real work remains with you. They offer the 
means, the success must come from you. 

Soldiers and Friends ! We feel that you repre- 



16 THE VOICE OF HOME 

sent us in tliis great struggle. It is the very exist- 
ence of Liberty wliicli is in peril. If you fail, then 
Liberty is dead. It is no meaner thing than this 
that hangs on the fate of the battle. "VYe want you 
every way to be worthy the grand labor to which 
you have been called. Napoleon, master of every 
position as he was, could touch his soldiers by a 
word as by a deed. No saying of his is more ap- 
plauded than that by which he roused his veterans at 
the battle of the Pyramids : " Soldiers ! from yonder 
heights forty centuries are looking down upon you." 
We can say that, though no dead centuries of the 
past may look down upon you, yet, as living centu- 
ries of the future pass onward, they shall look back 
at this as the crisis-hour of their own fate, at you 
as the heroes of the world's best strife. Your de- 
votion shall work all time's redemption. "We are 
wont to look backward for our heroes, and to i^lace 
the golden days behind. To-day is the golden time ; 
this the heroic age ! It is great to live to-day. To 
be tried in this furnace is honor and privilege. To 
be one in the serried ranks that close in this last 
death-grapple with tyranny, — that is to feel indeed 
the glory of manhood ! Do not — no, not a single 
man of you — by any act sully the fair hope that 
springs before a world. The war that our fathers 
waged, with a just reverence, we have always held 
as first and holiest ; but to-day yours is a holier task. 
Alone of all nations, ours stands upon a principle. 



TO THE ABSENT FRO.AI HOME. 17 

For that our fathers struggled, fought, died. They 
strove to plant the seed, we strive to protect the 
tree ; they dropped the acorn, but to-day tests the 
vigor of the young oak, and if beneath its shadow 
all nations are to be blest and its leaves to be their 
healing, you must stand true to the cause and true 
to your manhood. To you has come the graver 
peril which some of them foresaw. Nobly they did 
their part ; as nobly do your mightier task, and trans- 
mit your heritage untarnished to the ages, no scan- 
dal resting on your names. Washington has said : 
" Our profession is the chastest of all ; even the 
shadow of a fault tarnishes the lustre of our finest 
achievements." The Chevalier Bayard, who has 
come down to us the type of what a soldier should 
be, was not only " without fear," but " without re- 
proach." With insidious industry, and only too great 
success, the leaders of the foe have spread it among 
theu* people that you are a band of ruffians, such as 
the world has never seen, — burning, plundering, 
ravishing, murdering, — that your watchword is 
" Beauty and booty." Give the lie to that by the 
faultless integrity of your whole conduct. You can- 
not strip war of its horrors. They are inevitable. 
It must be stem, terrible. But there are mitiga- 
tions, — not simply courtesies to foes, but tenderness 
to the defenceless and the weak, respect always to 
woman. Show your manhood in the fight, nor less 
at every wayside home ; and though necessity com- 



18 THE VOICE OP HOME 

pel you to leave behind you desolation, let there not 
be the wilder waste and havoc of sin. We want to 
welcome you back, not only with the laurel of vic- 
tory about your banners, but with the halo of honor 
around your bi'ows. 

Soldiers and Brothers ! "We greet you as we part ! 
Go to the work that God has appointed you to, 
to contend, not with man, but with wrong. This 
war must not be vindictive. It is waged against 
principles, not against men. Sustain yourselves by 
no false thought of glory, the mirage that looms 
to deceive ; have no yearning after an imperishable 
name with men; but do your simple duty, and so 
win the glory and honor of immortality. It may 
be sweet and honorable to die for country. But 
" it is not all of death to die." Content yourselves 
with, make sure of, the approbation of God. Be 
brave ; be pure ; fear God. You fight for Him, 
and in His cause you need not the courage of the 
brute, but the better courage of the man ; not the 
courage that can march to the deadly, imminent 
breach, but that courage, you have already found 
faihng you, which rises above power of temptation, 
thought of man, and dares be true to God. 

You are marching on, it may be to defeat, it may 
be to death ; — no, it may be to death, it cannot be to 
defeat ! In such a cause there is no failure. Trust 
not in the flippant saying that " God is with the 
heaviest battahons." Take with your arms faith ; 



TO THE ABSENT FROM HOME. 19 

as you march, pray; when you fall, trust; when 
you conquer, give to God the victory. God's 
cause prospers best when he has righteous helpers. 
If He be with you, nothing can stand against you. 
The guilty foe, foiled in every part, compassed by 
your armies and your fleets, alien from all worthy 
human sympathy, outcast of God, shall melt away. 
And then shall be the glorious end. Sweet peace 
shall come again, and we shall welcome you back 
to these faithful hearts, not with outward rejoicings 
alone, which shall be forgotten with the hour, but 
with that welcome which belongs to warriors tri- 
umphant from the last crusade against liberty, law, 
and love ! 



Army Series.] [No. 4. 

LIBERTY AND LAW. 



A POEM FOR THE HOUR. 



ELBEIDGE JEFPEESON CtTLEE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

18 6 1. 



POEM. 



The drum's wild roll awakes the land, the fife is 

calling slu'ill ; 
Ten thousand staiTj banners blaze on town and bay 

and hill ; 
Our crowded streets are throbbing with the soldier's 

measured tramp ; 
Among our bladed cornfields gleam the white tents 

of the camp ; 
The thunders of the rising war hush Labor's drowsy 

hum, 
And heavy to the ground the first dark drops of 

battle come ; 
The souls of men flame up anew, the narrow heart 

expands ; 
And woman brings her jjatient faith to nerve her 

eager hands. 
Thank God ! we are not buried yet, though long in 

trance we lay, — 
Thank God ! the fathers need not blush to own their 

boiid to-day ! 



Oh ! sad and slow the weeks went by, — each held 

his anxious breath, 
Like one who waits in helpless fear some sorrow 

great as death. 
Oh ! scarcely was there faith in God, nor any trust 

in man, 
"While fast along the southern sky the blighting 

shadow ran ; 
It veiled the stars one after one, it hushed the pa- 
triot's song, 
And stole from men the sacred sense that parteth 

right and wrong. 
Then a red flash like Ughtning across the darkness 

broke, 
And with a voice that shook the land the guns of 

Sumter spoke : 
Wake, sons of heroes, wake ! The age of heroes 

dawns again ; 
Truth takes in hand her ancient sword, and calls 

her loyal men. 
Lo ! brightly o'er the breaking day shines Freedom's 

holy star. 
Peace cannot cure the sickly time. All hail the 

healer, "War ! 

That call was heard by Plymouth Rock, 't was heard 

in Boston Bay ; 
Then, up tlie piny streams of Maine, sped on its 

ringing way. 



New Hampshire's rocks, Vei-mont's green hills, it 

kindled into flame ; 
Rhode Island felt her mighty soul bursting her httle 

frame ; 
The Empire City started up, her golden fetters 

rent, 
And meteor-like across the North the fiery message 

sent ; 
Over the breezy prau-ie-lands, by bluff and lake it 

ran, 
Till Kansas bent his arm, and laughed to find him- 
self a man ; 
Then on by cabin and by camp, by stony wastes 

and sands, 
It rang exultant down the sea where the golden 

city stands. 

And wheresoe'er the summons came, there rose an 

angry din. 
As when upon a rocky coast a stormy tide comes 

in. 
Straightway the fathers gathered voice, straightway 

the sons arose 
With flushing cheek, as when the East with day's 

red cuiTcnt glows. 
Hurrah ! the long despair is past ; our fading hopes 

renew ; 
The fog is lifting from the land, and lo, the ancient 

blue! 



We learn the secret of the deeds the sires have 

handed down 
To fire the youthful soldier's zeal, and tend his 

green renown. 
Who lives for country, through his arm feels all her 

forces flow ; 
'T is easy to be brave for truth as for the rose to 

blow. 

O Law, fair form of Liberty ! God's light is on thy 
brow. 

O Liberty, the soul of Law ! God's very self art 
thou. 

One the clear river's sparkling flood that clothes 
the bank with green, 

And one the line of stubborn rock that holds the 
waters in ; 

Friends, whom we cannot think apart, seeming each 
other's foe ; — 

Twin flowers upon a smgle stalk with equal grace 
that grow, — 

fair ideas ! we write your names across our ban- 
ner's fold ; 

For you the sluggard's brain is fire, for you the 
coward bold. 

daughter of the bleeding Past ! hope the Proph- 
ets saw! 

God give us Law in Liberty, and Liberty in 
Law ! 



Full many a heart is aching with mingled joy and 

pain 
For those who go so proudly forth and may not 

come again. 
And many a heart is aching for those it leaves be- 
hind, 
As a thousand tender histories throng in upon the 

mind. 
The old men bless the young men and praise their 

bearing high ; 
The women in the doorways stand to wave them 

bravely by, 
One threw her arms about her boy, and said, 

" Good by, my son, 
God help thee do the valiant deeds thy father 

would have done ! " 
One held up to a bearded man a little child to 

kiss, 
And said, " I shall not be alone, for thy dear love 

and this." 
And one, a rose-bud in her hand, leant at a soldier's 

side ; — 
" Thy country weds thee first," she said. " Be I 

thy second bride ! " 

O mothers ! when around your hearths ye count 

your cherished ones. 
And miss from the enchanted ring the flower of all 

your sons ; 



wives ! when o'er the cradled child ye bend at 

evening's fall, 
And voices which the heart can hear across the 

distance call ; 
O maids ! when in the sleepless nights ye ope the 

little case, 
And look till ye can look no more upon the proud 

young face ; — 
Not only pray the Lord of life, who measures mor- 
tal breath, 
To bring the absent back, unscathed, out of the fii'e 

of death ; — 
Oh ! pray with that divine content which God's best 

favor draws, 
That, whosoever lives or dies, he save his holy 

cause ! 

So out of shop and farm-house, from shore and in- 
land glen, 

Thick as the bees in clover-time are swarming 
armed men ; 

Along the dusty roads in haste the eager columns 
come 

With flash of sword and musket's gleam, the bugle 
and the drum. 

Ho ! comrades, see the starry flag, broad-wavmg at 
our head. 

IIo ! comrades, mark the tender light on the dear 
emblems spread. 



9 



Our fathers' blood has hallowed it ; 't is part of 
their renown ; 

And palsied be the caitifF-hand would pluck its glo- 
ries down ! 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! it is our home where'er thy col- 
ors fly. 

We win with thee the victory, or in thy shadow 
die ! 

O women ! di-ive the rattling loom and gather in the 
hay ; 

For all the youth worth love and truth are mar- 
shalled for the fray. 

Southward the hosts are hurrying, with banners 
wide unfurled, 

From where the stately Hudson floats the wealth 
of half the world ; 

From where amid his clustered isles Lake Huron's 
waters gleam ; 

From where the IVIississippi pours an unpolluted 
stream ; 

From where Kentucky's fields of com bend in the 
Southern air ; 

From broad Ohio's luscious vines ; from Jersey's 
orchards fair ; 

From where between his fertile slopes Nebraska's 
rivers run ; 

From Pennsylvania's iron hills ; from woody Ore- 
gon ; 



10 



And Massachusetts led the van, as in the days of 

yore, 
And gave her reddest blood to cleanse the stones 

of Baltimore. 

mothers, sisters, daughters ! spare the tears ye fain 

would ^shed. 
Who seem to die in such a cause, ye cannot call 

them dead. 
They live upon the lips of men, in picture, bust, and 

song; 
And nature folds them in her heart and keeps them 

safe from wrong. 
Oh ! length of days is not a boon the brave man 

prayeth for ; 
There are a thousand evils worse than death or any 

war, — 
Oppression, with his iron strength fed on the souls 

of men ; 
And hcense with the hungry brood that haunt his 

ghastly den. 
But like bright stars ye fill the eye, — adoring 

hearts ye draw, 
sacred grace of Liberty ! O majesty of 

Law ! 

Hurrah ! the drums are beating ; the fife is calling 

shrill ; 
Ten thousand starry banners flame on town and bay 

and hill ; 



11 



The thunders of the rising war drown Labor's peace- 
ful hum ; 

Thank God that we have lived to see the saffron 
morning come ! 

The morning of the battle-call, to every soldier 
dear, — 

O joy ! the cry is " Forward ! " O joy ! the foe 
is near ! 

For all the crafty men of peace have failed to purge 
the land ; 

Hurrah ! the ranks of battle close, God takes his 
cause in hand ! 



Army Series.] [No. 5. 

THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 



ONE OF OUR CHAPLAINS. 



/I ,/ % .1 



BOSTON: 
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION 

18 6 1. 



THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 



Holiday soldiering seems suddenly to have come 
to an end. Fancy uniforms, with abundance of 
gold lace, feathers, epaulets, and similar gewgaws, 
have been put off. A soldier's life has been found 
to be a matter of genuine importance. The use 
of the musket and bayonet has been ascertained. 
Instead of an expensive toy, to be paraded once 
or twice a year for the gratification of a curious 
and idle populace, our military organization is rec- 
ognized as a necessity for the support of the Na- 
tional Government and the defence of our homes. 
The war has changed many of our notions. Mili- 
tary life has become a serious and earnest thing 
with us. The nation is passing through a. coui-se 
of severe disciphne, which will educate and purify 
our whole national life. We desire peace ; we 
pray for peace : but peace we cannot have till our 
discipline is thoroughly jSnished and our purification 
is complete. We must expect the conflict to con- 
tinue till that end is reached. We must go to school 

HO. V. 



4 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

in the camp and the field before we are taught 
the true lesson of the times. 

It happened to be my fortune to be connected 
for three months with a regiment of volunteers. 
It has been a short experience, as I am ready to 
allow ; but our life, for three months, presented all 
the aspects of a long campaign. We had a taste 
of almost everything that pertains to war. We 
drilled, we paraded, we bivouacked ; we lived in 
barracks, in huts, in tents ; we made forced marches ; 
we fought a battle, gained a victory, suffered a defeat, 
made an inglorious retreat ; and some of our num- 
ber were captured, and are still held as prisoners 
of war. We might have been for years in the 
regular army, and yet not have seen so much ser- 
vice as has been crowded into our short term. We 
saw the painful and the pleasant side of war, if war 
can have a pleasant side. In the various opportu- 
nities which were afforded us, we had the privilege 
of studying human nature in all the varieties which 
a soldier's life can exhibit. We could perceive the 
depressing and elating influences of such a life. 
We even saw the workings of that excitement of 
the lower nature which leads a victorious army to 
pillage and sack a conquered town. 

Life in camp has its impulses to good, and its 
temptations to evil. The first experience is un- 
questionably an incitement of religious feeling. 
Men have just left their homes, and begin to feel 



THE CAMP AXD THE FIELD. 5 

the need of the kindly pressure of home influences. 
Many of those who have enlisted in this war have 
gone to the scene of danger impelled by a control- 
ling sense of duty. They feel that there are diffi- 
culties in the way ; that they will be obliged to 
endure many hardships ; that they may be exposed 
to many perils, and possibly to painful death. In- 
stinctively they turn to a higher Power, and seek 
the help of God. Upon such men, religious ser- 
vices produce a wonderful effect. They are a re- 
straint, an encouragement, a direction, a help, and 
an inspiration. Most men who have had no mili- 
tary experience, find, at the beginning, that they 
need most strongly just such an influence as this. 
A new life has opened itself to their contemplation. 
As they look into it, they perceive that such words 
as " duty," " self-sacrifice," " patriotism," " rehgion," 
and the hke, have deeper signification than they 
have before thought. The uncertainty of life, the 
ignorance of future events, the gradual settling into 
a state where the prime requisite for success is 
unquestioning obedience to the order of other per- 
sons, and the consequent loss of self-confidence, 
seem to induce a strong feeling of dependence upon 
God. Added to this is the thought, that those who 
are dear to one's affections must be given up to 
the care of Providence; and that, for both the 
distant and near, there are but two things to do, — 
to wait patiently the progress of events, and to 



6 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

trust in God and one another. The most thought- 
less and indifferent man cannot escape the influence 
of such thoughts and feelings ; while those of a 
deep and tender nature are affected by them to 
a remarkable degree. I think it would be the 
testimony of a majority of our volunteers, that, 
for the first few weeks of their military life, their 
religious nature was very perceptibly excited to 
action. As sometimes, on summer mornings, a 
fresh breeze will set in from some cool quarter of 
the heavens, and will seem to clear the air of nox- 
ious vapors and enervating heat, such delicious 
coolness and freshness pervade the day ; so this 
fresh gale of duty and patriotism set in upon our 
worldly life, and, for the time, made it clear and 
generous and pure. 

For the time, I say ; for as the heat of summer 
asserts its presence when the gale is spent, so the 
old worldliness returns, vmless the most vigilant 
precautions are taken against it. Men, left to 
themselves, have many idle hours to spend; and 
the old couplet is true in this as in other cases : — 

" Satan has some mischief still 
For idle hands to do." 

Then is felt the force of temptation-, then are exer- 
cised the influences most incident to the vices of 
the camp. The body becomes lazy ; the mind 
becomes indolent ; one feels disinclined to exertion, 



THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 7 

and labor is distasteful. As a consequence, when 
the mind is unoccupied with good, evil will come 
in. Unclean spirits fiU the empty chambers. The 
craving for something to excite and interest the 
attention seeks its gratification in forbidden ways. 
The appetites and passions are aroused ; intemper- 
ance, profanity, obscenity, dissoluteness, profligacy, 
lust, and sloth begin to manifest themselves ; and 
the worst results are threatened. The most dan- 
gerous enemy to the soldier is not so much to be 
found upon the battle-field as in the quiet of the 
garrison and the camp. It is on the field of the 
soul that the severest conflicts ai*e waged. To 
such an extent does the unwilhngness to labor 
sometimes go, that the daily drill necessary for 
skiU in the use of arms, and the regular discipline 
of a command, will be neglected upon almost any 
pretence. I have seen soldiers almost completely 
demoralized by such neglect ; and I have seen a 
battle lost in consequence, and the work of months 
rendered almost of no avail. I have seen soldiers 
cowardly pillaging a defenceless town, because they 
were undisciplined in virtue ; and I have seen those 
same soldiers break from their ranks, and take to 
flight, when confronted with the foe. I once made 
a flying visit through some of our camps in the 
neighborhood of Washington, and, in the course of 
that visit, stopped for a few minutes in the camp 
of a certain regiment. The colonel was a vulgar, 



8 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

profane, swaggering man ; and among the soldiers 
there seemed to be an utter want of obedience or 
respect for their superior officers. I was curious 
to know how such a regiment would behave in 
battle. In reading one of the official reports of 
the battle of Bull Run, I found the record. It Avas 
exactly as I supposed it would be. The regiment 
was broken at the first charge ; several officers had 
deserted before the battle, and " the men were not 
slow to follow their example." 

There is a very remarkable conversation be- 
tween Cyrus and one of his generals, Chrysantas, 
as reported by Xenophon in the third book of the 
" Cyropaedia." Chrysantas endeavors to persuade 
Cyrus to address the soldiers of his army upon the 
eve of a battle. Cyrus declines doing so : " For," 
he says, " no exhortation whatever, though ever so 
noble, can, at the instant, make the hearers brave, 
if they were not so before." Chrysantas still thinks 
that " it is enough if Cyrus can make their minds 
better by his exhortation." Then Cyrus replies, — 
and his words deserve to be written upon every 
tent in our army, — '' Can a word spoken at the 
instant inspire the minds of the hearers with a 
sense of shame, or hinder them from doing things 
mean and base ? Can it influence them elFectually 
to undergo all labors, and run all hazards, to gain 
praise ? Can it establish this sentiment firmly in 
their minds, that to die fighting is rather to be 



THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. V 

chosen than to be saved by flying? If such senti- 
ments are to be instilled into men, and to be made 
lasting, ought there not, in the first place, to be 
such laws established, whereby a life with honor 
and liberty should be provided for the brave, and 
such a course of life traced out and laid before the 
vicious as should be abject and painful, and not 
worth Hving out ? Then there ought to be teachers 
and governors in these affairs, who should direct 
men right ; should teach and accustom them to 
practise these things, till they come to determine 
with themselves that the brave and renowned are 
in reality the happiest of all, and to judge that the 
vicious and the infamous are of all the most miser- 
able ; for thus ought those to stand affected who 
are to make their institution and discipline overrule 
their fear of the enemy." He goes on to say, that 
a set foi'm of words could not make men soldiers 
on the instant ; nor yet that soldiers could be re- 
liable, tmless the officers were present to set them 
an example of manliness and bravery. Then he 
concludes : " I should very much wonder, O Chry- 
santas ! if a discourse ever so finely spoken should 
be able to teach bravery to men wholly undisci- 
plined in virtue, any more than a song well sung 
could teach music to such as were wholly unin- 
structed in it." The Persian king struck the right 
chord. Bravery is impossible to men "wholly 
undisciplined in virtue " ; and it is hardly to be 



10 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

expected that the men will be brave and virtuous, 
unless the officers set them the example. The 
bravest soldiers in our army will be found among 
the most virtuous, the most religious, and the most 
faithful men. The best regiments are those which 
are comjwsed of men and officers who are men of 
character ; who are reverential, dutiful, and re- 
ligious. Such regiments are to be relied u}x)n in 
the emergencies of the strife. On Friday afternoon 
before the battle of Bull Run, Gen. McDowell 
was present at the dress-parade of a regiment then 
at Centreville, such as I have mentioned. At the 
close of the parade, tlie usual religious service of 
the day, which was never omitted upon such an 
occasion, was performed. A psahn was read, a 
prayer offered, and the doxology sung by the regi- 
ment. The scene was very impressive. The sol- 
diers stood uncovered in the light of that glorious 
summer sunset, and with bowed -and reverent heads 
listened in unbroken stillness to the service. Sol- 
diers from other camps gathered •about, and stood 
in little knots as spectators. As the manly voices 
of the united regiment rose upon the evening air, 
it seemed as though an influence from on high had 
come in response to strengthen each man's heart, 
and make him brave. The genei-al commanding 
was visibly affected. He rode up to the chaplain, 
and with tearful eyes expressed his thanks for the 
unexpected service. Then turning to the colone!. 



THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 11 

who had also command of a brigade, he said, " Col. 
B., I shall rely upon your brigade." The event 
justified his remark ; for that brigade was the first 
in action, sustained the brunt of the battle for 
hours, " and did it well," as Gen. McDowell official- 
ly declared, and was the last to leave the field. 
Had all the other brigades behaved as well, the 
fortune of the day would have been different, and 
" Bull Run " would have been written in brighter 
lines in the annals of the North. 

The enforcement of order, and the proper dis- 
cipline of a corps, depend, to a very great extent, 
upon the character of its officers, and especially 
upon the character and efficiency of its commanding 
officer. If the colonel of a regiment, or the gen- 
eral of a brigade, is a virtuous, manly, and religious 
man, the influence of his life and character will be 
felt for good by every man under his command ; if 
otherwise, his influence will be greatly detrimental. 
Some officers are martinets; and they work and 
badger and wony their men, attempting to enforce 
a multitude of petty rules. They endeavor to be 
despots on a small scale ; and labor under the mis- 
take, that their strictness, which only frets and 
annoys the men, is good discipline. The effect of 
such conduct is to estrange and alienate the men ; 
to make military life an object of complete disgust 
to them ; and to do away with all the good impres- 
sions which a voluntary performance of duty, and 



12 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

a willing risk of life for tlie sake of duty, are likely 
to make. Other officers are easy, indolent, and 
indulgent ; passing over many offences lightly, be- 
cause of a disinclination to make the necessary 
exertions for their punishment ; sometimes waking 
up to a sense of duty in this respect, and then 
visiting even slight faults with undue severity; thus 
allowing the caprice of the moment to decide upon 
and inflict the penalties of disobedience. Such 
officers, in their desire to become popular with their 
men, subvert and prevent the proper discipline of 
their corps, and become really unpopular ; for the 
men, while they take advantage of and abuse the 
good-nature of their commander, really despise him 
for his want of energy, and his inability to restrain 
and control them. Other officers, again, have joined 
the volunteer service as though they thought cam- 
paigning was more of a frolic at Washington than 
a serious business, involving the fate of a continent. 
It was a jileasant thing to parade, at the head of 
a regiment, up and down Pennsylvania Avenue ; 
to flash one's epaulets and shoulder-strajjs beneath 
the light of the President's chandeliers ; to inter- 
change compliments and visits Avith the fashionables 
of tlie metropolis who still remained loyal, or whose 
connection with the Government gave them a sup- 
port, and a quasi standing in society. It was a 
pleasant thing to wear a uniform and a title. Mean- 
while the men might suffer for the want of the 



THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 13 

common necessaries of life. The business of the 
camp was intrusted to incompetent subordinates, 
who required constant oversight, and who without 
it floundered in the midst of difficulties which they 
could not overcome, and which threatened to over- 
whelm them. The bar-rooms and hotel-parlors of 
the capital were more attractive than the encamp- 
ment, where disaffection and discontent were rapid- 
ly inducing demoralization, and pi'ovoking to mutiny. 
Having occasion to visit an encampment one day, 
to transact some business with the colonel of the 
regiment there stationed, I inquired, of a soldier 
near the entrance, where I should find the colonel. 
His reply was : " If you find him at all, you will 
be more lucky than we are ; for we do not see him 
oftener than once m two or three weeks." I ascer- 
tained that he lived at a hotel part of the time. 
Other officers, again, joined the ai-my for the sake 
of achieving some mihtary glory, or for the further- 
ance of some ambitious scheme for political prefer- 
ment. Such officers used even the good condition 
of their regiments, as equipped by the State that 
sent them, for the purposes of their own glorification. 
Then petty jealousies and intrigues would spring 
up ; and the officers of the same corps, or of differ- 
ent corps belonging to the same State, would be 
planning against one another. I have known even 
an executive of a State to be jealous of his ap- 
pointees, thinking that they might achieve more 



14 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

distinction than himself; and endeavoring to sup- 
plant them, and prevent their promotion, as he 
feared that they might, by and by, stand in the 
way of his own advancement. This is the dark 
side of the picture. Its deepest shadows lay all along 
the road from Washington to Manassas, through the 
week which ended in the disaster of the 21st of 

July- 
There are brighter and more cheerful tints. Offi- 
cers there were, and they were not few, who were 
conscientious, unselfish, Christian men, and who 
made it the constant study of their term of service 
to provide for the comfort and welfare of the men 
who were under their charge. They entered into 
the contest from the very strongest sense of duty. 
They felt as though the voice of God called them. 
They had no desire for glory, no selfish motives, 
no ulterior ends. They felt that they could thus be 
useful to their country in the time of its need ; and 
they left home and its comforts, positions of ease 
and affluence, lucrative business and prosperous for- 
tunes, to become the servants of duty, and to give 
even their hves to the cause of hberty and law. 
They were even so free from any meanness and 
selfish jealousy, and so completely disinterested, 
as to work night and day for the benefit of their 
regiments, and allow others to receive the credit 
which was wholly due to themselves. These offi- 
cers were to be found in their own camps, attend- 



THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 15 

ing, first of all, to their duties there, paying every 
attention to the condition of their men, seeing that 
they were properly fed and clothed, and even pro- 
viding for their wants from their own private funds. 
They shared the hardships and privations of the 
campaign with their soldiers ; and, in the hour of 
danger, led them against the foe. These were men 
of prayerful souls, of temperate habits, and of the 
most upright and truthful character. The soldiers 
had confidence in them, and knew that they were 
entirely competent to lead them. They said, '• "What- 
ever Col. So-and-so says must be right." — ""Wher- 
ever he goes, we are willing to follow." — ""Whatever 
he commands must be done." Such an officer, com- 
bining generosity with strictness, winning the men to 
regard his slightest wish, rather than compelling 
them to obedience to his orders, attracting their 
afi'ection and respect, will soon have his regiment 
under the most thorough disciphne. It will be gov- 
erned more by love than fear. The moral influence 
of such a man's daily life will elevate and dignify 
the life of every private in the ranks. I think I 
have known such a man ; and I know that he was 
regarded, by every officer and soldier that was as- 
sociated with him, with the most touching devotion 
and the most affectionate esteem. It was an in- 
stance of " hero-worship " such as I hardly thought 
could exist. So patient that man was, so self-de- 
voted, so disinterested, so thoroughly a master of 



16 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

every situation in wliich he was placed, so complete 
a tactician and so brave a soldier, so kind to man 
and so trustful towards God, so genial a companion 
and so faithful a friend, as to occasion no surprise 
that the men of his regiment loved him as they 
would love a parent, and would willingly have laid 
down their lives in his behalf. It was no matter 
of surprise that, his regiment should stand in the 
very front rank in the army of the Union, dis- 
tinguished for its good conduct and manly bearing 
in the camp, and its steadiness and gallantry in 
the field. The Government early recognized the 
value of his services ; and he is now occupying 
a higher position, and in a fair way of winning and 
wearing yet greener laurels. 

Now, it is the discipline which such a man can 
exercise that is required in our armies. Valor and 
courage, superiority in arms and equipments, are 
of slight avail, without discipline and the habits of 
obedience. I have read the various accounts of 
newspaper cori'espondents, and the official reports 
of the battle of Bull Run. There is any amount 
of fable in the former, whether adressed to New 
York, Boston, or London journals ; and scenes are 
described which never existed, and could not possi- 
bly exist, except in the fearful and excited imagina- 
tion of the writers. Letter-writers from Washing- 
ton are accustomed to draw a pretty long bow ; and 
the effect of the battle upon the minds of most of 



THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 17 

these panic-stricken scribblers was to elongate the 
bow more than ever. Yet, from what I am able 
to glean from these accounts, and sift from the 
official reports, and what I was fortunate or unfor- 
tunate enough to witness for myself, I conclude 
that the day was lost because of the deficiency of 
discipline on the part of both officers and men. 
Men left the ranks singly, or by twos and threes ; 
regiments imperceptibly melted away ; captains lost 
their companies, and companies, their captains. At 
one time, the road was crowded with men going 
to the rear upon almost every pretext, apparently 
careless of the result, and only anxious to get out 
of the way of danger, — a confused, disorganized, 
and unshapely mass, from which would be heard 
inquiries as to the position of such and such and 
such a regiment. No army in the world could 
stand under circumstances hke these; and, when 
the final advance of the enemy was made, there 
was nothing left to the regiments that still re- 
mained unbroken but to retreat in as good order 
as was possible. It was done, with the conviction 
on the part of many, afterwards confirmed, and 
which, indeed, was the salvation of the retreating 
body, that the enemy was in as bad a plight as 
themselves. It is impossible to make men brave 
who are " undisciplined in virtue " ; and it is im- 
possible that men should be thus discipUned with- 
out the daily and hourly drill, the self-training 



18 THE CAMP AND THE FIELD. 

and the example of their " teachers and governors." 
The fortunes of the field depend upon the discipline 
of the camp. 

Gen. McClellan seems thoroughly to understand 
this fact, and he has abundant ability to act accord- 
ing to its suggestions. Gen. McDowell probably 
understood it; but he was not competent to deal 
with it. He is a generous and faithful man, and 
a good officer ; but he was not quite equal to the 
command of so important a movement as that which 
was attempted in July. Gen. McClellan unites 
with the generosity and fidelity of his predecessor 
other qualities, — ability to command, great execu- 
tive power, a sleepless vigilance, and a complete 
understanding of the situation, and of the impor- 
tance of the movement committed to his direction. 
He also engages the confidence and excites the 
enthusiasm of the soldiers. They believe him, and 
the country believes him, when he says, " "We have 
had our last retreat ; we have seen our last defeat : 
henceforth, victory will crown our efforts." The 
echo of those words will be heard in every camp 
of our army, and a full response will be given. 
A full organization, a better drill, a thorough disci- 
pline in the use of ai'ms and in the moral forces 
of character and virtue, now prevail ; and the ex- 
pectations of the people will be realized. Rebellion 
will be beaten back, and peace and unity will once 
more x'eign. God speed the time ! 



Army Series.] [No. 6. 

THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 



ADDRESSED TO THE 



SICK AND WOUNDED OF THE ARMY OF THE UNION. 



JOHN F. W. WAEE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1862. 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL, 



GREETING : 



Fathers and Brothers, Husbands and Sons I 

A FEW months ago you went from us in all the 
promise and hope of your manhood. The duty 
which called you was one which we had no right to 
resist, though it compelled us to part with those in 
whom is our life. We would not prevent you, but 
gave you our tears and our blessings. We have 
followed you faithfully since. In your homes, in 
our hearts, you are never forgotten. With prayer 
we dismissed you, with prayer have we followed 
you, hoping it might please the Great Father to lead 
you onward to victory, and then bring you back to 
us saved from the peril. We have shared with you 
privations, exposures, successes, reverses. The blow 
that has struck you has wounded us also. We feel 
that the ties which bound us before are strengthened 
by your absence and endurance, and we trust that 
you feel the old home-love still about you, its 
invisible presence and influence enfolduig, upholding 
you. 

NO. VI. 



4 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

Before the work is accomplished, you are with- 
drawn. The fortune of war has taken you out of 
the active duties of camp and of field. Sickness 
has laid its hand on you : the bullet and the sword 
have found you. Separate alike from comrades and 
from home, you no longer share in the fatigue of 
the march, the excitement of the picket, the rough 
pleasures of the bivouac, or the dangers of battle. 
The strong limbs which have bonie you under hot 
suns, pelting storms, heavy burdens, refuse now 
their service, and you, once sufficient to your own 
wants, must now wait for the ministries of others. 
The might of the warrior is less than the strength 
of a child. Only in heart are you strong. 

"We long to be with you, to show that we love as 
we speak, and, by such service as only home can 
bring, to soothe your sorrows and pains. But it 
cannot be. It is hard, but it is best. Faithful and 
tender assistants and nurses watch over you, not, 
indeed, as we would, not as mother and sister and 
wife. We bless them for their unselfish devotion, 
and submit to the necessity that keeps us away. "We 
will be patient and hope. Do not think we speak 
idly, when we beg you hkewise to submit, be patient, 
and hoj^e ! 

One of God's best gifts, sickness, is never wel- 
come to man. It is never easy to beai\ Suffer- 
ing and weariness will come even where affection 
and wealth strive to avert them. The nameless 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. O 

ministries of love mitigate but little the raging of 
fever, the tossing of unrest, the lingering of day and 
of night. They give us courage and patience, they 
soothe, but they cannot take away the burden laid 
on the sufferer, which he only can bear. The angels 
who ministered to Jesus soothed him and strength- 
ened him, but they could not take from him the cup 
the Father had ordained he should drink. 

You are not at home. You have not these allevi- 
ations. The rough though faithful service of com- 
rades, the kind and gentle care of nurses, lack just 
that which only home can give, while bare walls and 
crowded wards and narrow beds, how unlike they 
are to the quiet and seclusion of home ! Pain and 
disease come to you in their full sharpness and hor- 
ror. We know that the soldier dreads the hospital 
more than the battle, — that he fears not its pains, 
but its scenes and depressions. We know that the 
Avearing pining for home, the malady the surgeon 
cannot reach or the nurse assuage, adds tenfold to 
the anguish from disease or from wound. In all 
that we have to say, we beg you to feel that we un- 
derstand this ; that our advice and encouragement 
grow out of this understanding. 

To many of you this is every way a new expe- 
rience. The fact of sickness itself is new. It is 
the first break in a rude, vigorous life. You have 
known other hardships, privations, but nothing like 
this. The thought of your country's peril nerved 



6 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

you to break away from the ease and occupations of 
life ; the thought of her gratitude, the glory of help- 
ing in her redemption, have sustained you in all you 
have passed through. You have done much and 
borne much. It will be written on the page of his- 
tory, and never forgotten. Your names may not be 
known, but your deeds will shine forever. Now a 
harder task is yours, — the patient, manly bearing 
of the inevitable lot which has struck at your hopes, 
removed you from active service, and sends you 
back to us, not heroes, as you and we had dreamed, 
but feeble, maimed, possibly a burden through life 
to yourselves, and you may think a burden to us; 
but the home will never feel that, when her children 
come with still loyal hearts and lay their woes at 
her feet. 

Because you are struck down by the way, do not 
think your work has not been done. The true 
patriot enlists to serve his country. It is not for 
him to decide the manner in which he shall render 
that service. There are two ways in which every 
great cause is to be served, — two classes of ser- 
vants to work out the will of God. The great poet 
has uttered only half the truth when he says, " They 
also serve who only stand and wait." It must be 
added. They also serve who live to suffer. No 
cause is a success till it has been suffered for. So 
long as the Saviour walked in Judaea and Galilee, 
uttermg great truths, doing kind deeds, his cause 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 7 

did not advance, it -vtas not a success. But when 
Paul could point to him as " Christ crucified" as "the 
Captain of our salvation, made perfect through suf- 
fering," then all religions yielded, and the Gospel 
triumphed. To carry out his purposes, to insure 
success to the noblest causes, God needs the suf- 
ferer as well as the doer. 

Nor is it the less noble place God gives the suf- 
ferer. Men give their award to deeds, — to heroes, 
generals, conquerors. But men make great mis- 
takes. In the noise and plaudit which attend feats 
of arms, which welcome those who come home un- 
scathed, wearing the laurel of victory, you may find 
no mention, but your service will not be forgotten 
of God. He appoints you to a great duty. You 
have done much and would gladly do more. He 
has elected you to help him, to serve your country 
now, by suffering. You left us saying that it was 
sweet to die for your country. Men have fallen 
with such words on their lips. Will you, then, 
hesitate to accept this other mode of suffering for 
her ? It does not dazzle the imagination so to live 
and suffer as it does to die. Men love better to be 
the hero than the martyr, and they honor the one 
rather than the other ; but there may be as much 
real heroism on the cot of the hospital as on the 
battle-field, — infinitely more in a hfe of endurance 
than in the passing pang of what men call a " glo- 
rious " death. The catalogue of saints and martyrs 



8 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

outshines that of heroes and soldiers, as a sun o^<t' 
shines a star. If we may place at the head of one 
Washington, "the Father of his country," at the 
head of the other stands Jesus, "the Saviour of man." 
In one of his letters home, a young private states 
the whole truth : " Nothing can be gained Avithout 
sacrijfice. Many brave hearts have ceased to beat 
in this noble cause. We should be poor patriots 
should we be less forward. For whatever I am 
needed I am ready and shall be content." 

Let your spirit be such. Be content with the 
way in which it pleases God that you shall now 
serve your country's cause, and accept it as from 
him. You are not out of service, — you are not 
useless. It has been sweetly as truly said by one 
of the tenderest writers of song : — 

" Cast as a broken vessel by, 

Thy will I can no longer do ; 
Yet while a daily death I die, 

Thy power I may in weakness show ; 
My patience may thy glory raise. 
My speechless woe proclaim thy praise." 

This is not mere poetry. It is truth, — truth hard 
for us to accept, but nevertheless truth. Action, dar- 
ing, success, are not the only modes of forwarding 
the good cause. The humble sufferer has his part 
in the great work, — helps to round and complete 
the whole. If it be sweet to die for one's country, 
it is honor and privilege to suffer for it ! You would 
not halt at the first ; do not shrink from the last ! 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 9 

And it will always be an honor to you to have 
suffered in this cause, — a thing justly to be proud 
of, a glory about your manhood and your age. The 
soldier of other countries holds up his head, " shoul- 
ders his crutch," points to his wounds at the name 
of Waterloo, or Napoleon. All the old fire burns 
in his veins again. Has any soldier of Europe that 
to be proud of which you have ? Is any veteran 
of them all scarred in a service holy as yours? 
He was the hireling of a monarch, the conscript of 
a restless, unscrupulous warrior. You — not soldiers 
by ti*ade, not conscript or drafted, in the field only 
till the evil is past — have thrown aside everything 
else, and voluntarily given yourselves to the service 
of Uberty, of humanity. Others have endured 
much, struck strong blows for their own redemp- 
tion. You fight for the race, to re-establish what 
your fathers declared, what your fathers not only 
died for, but suffered for, — to plant anew, no 
"sounding, glittering generality," but a cardinal, 
eternal truth, — man's inalienable right " to life, 
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Others 
have struck for their altars and their hearths, you 
for the principle without which altars and hearths 
are vain. It shall be settled once for all, and now, 
you have said, that man is free! In that cause you 
are wounded, in that cause you are laid low by dis- 
ease. Better than medal, or ribbon, or cross of 
honor, the badge you must carry, perhaps to your 



10 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

grave, in your body, — the proof of your fidelity 
to your country, to your race, to your God. 

We addi'css the sick as the wounded. "We class 
you together. We hold you as one, as equally 
entitled to our gratitude, equally the servitors of 
God and of home. There has been some injustice 
towai'd those who are " only " sick. " I wish I were 
wounded," said a sick soldier ; *' then I, too, should 
get some attention and sympathy." We have seen 
the thick crowd about the man who Avas wounded, 
while the man only sick, faithful in every duty of 
camp and of battle, sick because he was faithful, was 
left, like the impotent man of old, to the charity of 
some chance spirit of mercy. We have thought 
that a something too much was done for the wound- 
ed ; that charity and sympathy, not always dis- 
creet, had been carried too far in one direction, not 
far enough in the other. All this has pained us, 
and we know it must pain those so unfortunate as 
to be only sick. There is neither kindness nor jus- 
tice nor wisdom in this. Wounds appeal to a certain 
popular sympathy as disease cannot. Disease is an 
eveiy-day thing. It has no romance about it. It 
does not speak as a wound does to the imagination, 
to the masses. A wound is no special sign of bravery 
or exposui-e, nor is the sick man less a brave man 
because his chance is to be untouched by the battle. 
There is other hard and wearing' and dangerous 
service beside the fight We cannot cure the world. 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 11 

and it may be that you will have to submit to this 
sort of injustice from those who only regard the 
outside ; but be sure that home will never make this 
distinction. She will pray, she will toil for, she will 
welcome and watch over, the manhood diseased just 
as cheerfully as the manhood crippled. The sick 
man as the wounded shall have equal honor, and 
their rest within her embrace shall be equally sweet. 
There are intervals in all recovery from sickness 

— and such will come to you — when the pains of 
the body are still, when lassitude passes, leaving the 
mind not merely calm, but disposed to activity. 
There is then a depth and clearness of moral per- 
ception and conviction such as one rarely arrives at 
in the hurry and pressure and delusions of health. 
The man is to himself, and life is to him, quite un- 
like what they have seemed. The shams in him 
and about him recede, and in their place stand great 
realities and duties. Too many suffer these seasons 
to glide away in delicious, dreamy repose, and so 
lose one of the greater blessings a divine mercy has 
attached to the mission of sickness. "We ask you 
to guard against this, not to yield to the fascinations 
of a luxurious indolence, but rouse yourselves to 
the duties demanded, and of which you are capable. 
If there is ever a time that a man will be honest 
with himself, — when he will probe and spare not, 

— it is when, aside from the demands and pretence 
of the world, the things which have led him and 



12 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

deceived him stand stripped of their power and 
charm. He is the soldier resting on the field after 
the fight, calmly and clearly surveying the past, as 
calmly and clearly getting ready for the future. As 
no soldier would refuse to profit by such a pause, so 
should no man. He omits it at his peril. Losing 
it, he makes eternal loss. The true man will use 
this opportunity, this privilege God throws in his 
way and supplies with incentives and helps, so that 
when he goes into active life again, — becomes in it 
a force once more, — he shall know that he cai-ries 
Avith him new power and wisdom and virtue, is 
every way stronger and wiser and better. God 
gives man these now and then halting seasons, that 
he may prepare for new and right action. To lose 
one is to lose his intended blessing. 

Sickness has duties no less than health. They 
are peculiar, many, definite, — small in themselves 
perhaps, yet in their aggregate of vital importance. 
There are no furloughs in the service of God. 
None is discharged in that warfare. Duty follows 
a man, though he be suffering. The sick man, the 
man plodding through a weary convalescence, is apt 
to think his unreasonableness, his irritability, quite 
pardonable. He cannot help them. He expects 
quick, kind, patient service. He has a right to 
demand these. But he forgets that those who wait 
on him have their rights too. He frets, is peevish, 
exacting. He does not blame himself for it ; others 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 13 

have no right to blame him. The fault is in his 
condition. This is not so. Make every reasonable 
allowance and deduction for the uncontrollable de- 
mands of nerves and weakness and hope deferred, 
there is a large amount of sick-room irritability 
which a man can control, if he only remembers 
that, though sick, he is still on duty, and, as a man, 
bound always to control himself. No true man 
should be wilHng to throw himself, as a dead Aveight, 
utterly upon the sympathy and charity of others. 
He will not yield to every whim, every impatience, 
every craving, but curb himself, and spare, as he 
can, his faithful attendants. The sick man is not 
only to be ministered unto, but in turn to minister ; 
not weakly to receive, but bravely to give ; to show 
his courage upon a bed as he would in a battle ; to 
keep his sufferings back rather than thrust them 
selfishly forward. As he lies there, he is an influ- 
ence ; he may be a blessing. What good a single 
unselfish spirit may do in a hospital ward ! How 
he will shame the fractious and discontented, how 
he will cheer the depressed, and with what brave 
hope will he re-nerve the timid and despairing ! 
With what alacrity weary feet will do his bidding ! 
And so, though lying there helpless and suffering, 
he becomes almoner of the rich treasures of an un- 
selfish heart, a benediction alike to patient and 
nurse. There shall never be written on human 
pages the triumphs of the lowly and suffering ; but 



14 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

in that book God keeps ever open, and where 
nothing is omitted, they will all shine, and brighter 
and brighter unto the perfect day. 

Briefly let us point you to three things which we 
at home think you should specially strive to attain. 

And, first. Patience. Almost it seems as if it were 
needless for us to speak of this, so universal is the 
witness that comes up from battle-fields, from trans- 
ports, from hospitals, of the marvellous patience of 
our dear sufferers. The heroism of the field has 
been followed by the harder heroism of the hospital. 
This is not always so. Many a man can fight who 
cannot bear, — is patient while active, impatient 
when suffering. The world does not know its true 
heroes yet ; but the home, admiring your deeds, 
prizes, as your crowning glory, the heroism of your 
sufferings. She approves your patience amid the 
hardships of the field, but she clasps you to her 
heart for your endurance of sickness and wound. 

Still there is something to be said. Patience is 
not a manly virtue, nor a grace that we covet. It 
is one of those things we have been quite willing to 
allow to women. "We have made Job a byword. 
The world sadly needs patient men ; and there are 
sadly impatient men in hospitals. You who were 
impatient at home will be impatient there. But 
now something more than our comfort or your self- 
respect is involved. You need patience as one 
means of recovery. The man who frets retards his 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 15 

recovery by fretting. Besides, patience is the only 
return you can make the faithful men and women 
who so unweariedly, day and night, watch over you ; 
who have left their homes, and their ease, and their 
comfort, and are, many of thera, without money and 
without price, giving themselves wholly to you. 
Duty called them to you. The same duty calls on 
you to show your gratitude by the steadfastness of 
your patience. 

But patience is not enough. It is a high virtue, 
but it needs support. A mere dogged patience, the 
bracing of the will or the nerves to bear quietly, 
will not do. The hospital needs cheerfulness. It is 
to the spirit what sunliglit is to the room. It does 
for the inward man what the light does for the out- 
ward. There can be no physical health in a cheer- 
less room, or with a discontented heart. 

It is possible for every man to be cheerful, what- 
■Bver his lot. Cheerfulness is not a thing of outward 
conditions. It springs from within. It is not mere- 
ly the grace of a full heart, it is often the charm of 
a sad one. God gives it to some men, but all men 
may acquire it, and the thing acquired is always 
sweeter and stronger than the thing given. That is 
only half courage which bears up under dangers 
and hardships. The highest courage lies in cheerful 
bearing. God loves a cheerful bearer, and comes 
to him with his great strength and help. 

You all desire to get out of the hospital, back to 



16 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

your duties or your homes. Nothing has so much 
to do with this as cheerfulness. Disease is deter- 
mined largely by mental conditions. Convalescence 
is slow and protracted, or pleasant and sure, accord- 
ing as the man keeps himself. Fret beneath the rod, 
be timid, irresolute, self-seeking, and your burden 
will be a burden indeed, — heavy, galling, dead, — 
but " put a cheerful courage on," and you will find 
the burden growing easy and light. Even love gets 
tii'ed of doing, forgets its sympathy, intermits its 
tenderness, where thei'c is churlish exaction and 
selfishness. 

One word about that highest thing, which indeed 
embraces all, but which we keep separate, and speak 
and think of as separate, — Faith. The man who 
has a clear, upright, manly Christian faith, — not a 
mere name, but a living thing in him, — has patience 
and cheerfulness as all other Christian virtue and 
grace. Yet these may exist without this, — and so 
the home says, as her last word to you, Add to these 
Faith. This war has spoken to you as even your 
Bibles have not before. You cannot have passed 
these scenes, you cannot have lain on bloody field, 
in narrow cot, you cannot have had these angel min- 
istries succeed the savage assault of battle, without 
feeling all this various experience di'awing you more 
and more into the presence of, into dependence upon, 
the great Unseen Spirit. If there be no deeper 
conviction in you, no more earnest purpose of loyal 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 17 

service, no stronger yearning to be sons of God, 
then indeed are your eyes holden and your hearts 
hard. By the baptism of blood it was that Jesus 
became lifted up before all men, became the world's 
Redeemer ; and the baptism of blood may work alike 
mightily in you, perfecting what was unworthy, 
drawing you toward the All Pure, giving you the 
coveted spirit of adoption. It is only a living, un- 
wavering Christian faith that sustains any man. Do 
not let these hours slip, do not pass hence to your 
homes again, or back to your duties, without possess- 
ing that surely which shall be your sufficient help 
in the time of all trouble. To the God who has 
been so plenteous in mercy give the remainder of 
your strength and your days. 

Fathers, husbands, brothers, sons I Some of you 
will go back to the active scenes and duties of 
camp and field, — to temptations and dangers. 
This sickness is not unto death or disability. Go 
to these as new men, as men profited, purged by 
the rich experience of discipline with which it 
has pleased God to visit you. Go back happier 
and wiser, leaving the low and the bad behind, 
and pressing forward, as the Apostle did, toward 
the mark, for the prize. Remember how great a 
loss it is to lose an opportunity. God has called 
others — your comrades — suddenly. You he has 
withdrawn, that you might think, repent, resolve, 
amend. The opportunity is a privilege. Do not 



18 THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 

despise it, — and when, in other days, in the cir- 
cle of those you love, you recount the scenes of 
daring and danger through which you have passed, 
and take to yourselves honest pride for your faithful 
discharge of your duty, and feel their love and re- 
spect for what you have done, may there lie in your 
hearts the better and deeper conviction, that, while 
the field gave you honor with men, the hospital 
insured you the " Well done ! " of God. 

Some of you, dear friends, must quit the hospital 
to come home to us, to realize that your early prom- 
ise is blighted, that you cannot again take a place in 
the race wath your peers, that life's prizes are not 
for you. It will be a sad coming for you and for 
us ; for are not our hopes crushed in yours ? You 
were our pride, our confidence, our tower of strength. 
How little seemed the world's ills when we had you 
to lean on and to hope in ! But come to us, dearly 
loved, nothing fearing. The change is sad and 
terrible. We prayed against it in vain. We accept 
it ; and, in the spirit of the English maiden of our 
fathers' day, whose lover doubted if she would keep 
her vow to one so bruised and maimed, home says 
to you, " Come, and, if there be but body enough to 
keep the soul in, we will receive you gladly as ours, 
and our lives shall be yours." Do not you come to 
prey upon the noble unselfishness of home. Re- 
member her suffei'ing in yours. Do not add to the 
inevitable burden by any ugly spirit, any evil habit, 



THE HOME TO THE HOSPITAL. 19 

any hard ingratitude, but let the marring of your 
body and the cutting you away from manly pursuits 
lift you into that nobler manhood which Christ and 
Paul have shown us are to be reached through suf- 
fering. 

Some of you (we speak it gently and reverently) 
must die, — die in your early prime ; die when life 
has so much for you ; die — and how shall we live 
without you ? God has terrible teachings for all in 
this strife ; but his teachings are not all dark. " Pa- 
ternal love o'er all presideth." The form in which 
the spirit of love chooses to address us we may not 
understand : we cannot doubt the spirit. Said a 
young private, as he was leaving home, to one who 
spoke of the dangers before him, " If one can only 
say. Our Father, there is no fear." That was the 
perfect love which cast all fear out. In that faith 
that young man died, — not on the battle-field, as 
he would have preferred, but on the cot of the hos- 
pital, away from all he loved and longed to see, yet 
yielding up a loyal heart peacefully, because he 
could say, " Our Father." That is the great all 
in all ; and for such the door of the Father's home 
stands day and night open. His arms and his wel- 
come await them. 

Dear friends of the home ! whatever betide you. 
be cheerful, be patient and trustful. The dark days 
shall pass. This life has its awards, — the glory 
and honor that perish ; but the rewards of eternity 
are honor and glory immortal. 



Army Series.] [No. 7. 

A 

LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER, 



ROBERT COLLYER. 



BOSTON: 
AMERICAN UNITAEIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1862. 



LETTER. 



My dear Friend : — 

I want to say, first of all, that this letter is writ- 
ten to you. It may be that I never saw your face, 
and I may never meet you as long as I live ; but if 
you are a soldier, fighting for the Union and the 
Constitution, I love you Uke a brother ; and if you 
are sick, I should hke to have a quiet chat with 
you by means of this letter, that will cheer you up 
and help you to get well again. I wish I could 
come and sit down beside you, instead of sending 
you this printed letter. I think I could do more in 
that way than I can by writing. I went into the 
hospital at Mound City very soon after you men 
did that grand thing at Fort Donelson; and as I 
went down one of the wards, I saw one young fel- 
low looking very sad. I went to his bedside, and 
he said, " Mister, I wish you would set down and 
talk a piece " ; so I sat down and began to talk, 
first about Donelson, and the battle, and how he 
got hurt; but I soon found out that he wanted to 



4 A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 

talk about home, and then we had a real good chat. 
He told me about his home on the prairie, and 
about his folks, and I wrote a letter for him to his 
father and mother, and a few lines to some one that 
he called " Dear Araandie," and then we shook 
hands, and I went away. Well, it was a wonder 
to see how that talk helped the boy ; he seemed to 
be ever so much better for it, and I have no doubt 
at all but he was better, because he was more 
cheerful and hopeful than he was before, and that 
is a great thing when a man is sick ; I think it is 
half the battle. Now I should dearly love to sit 
down beside you and talk to you just in the same 
way, if you are sick and sad. I know soldiers like 
to talk about their home, and their folks. It does 
them good whether they are sick or well, but most 
of all when they are sick. There is a likeness that 
can be carried about in a man's heart, which has 
far more life in it than a photograph. We leave 
our home and wife and children, or mother and 
sisters, but we carry them with us too wherever we 
go, and they help us to be better men than we 
could be without them. 

There is a touching story on this point in the 
history of the last rebellion in India. When the 
war broke out. the rebels invested one fort away 
back in the country. The defenders of the fort 
were few. and the enemy numerous, but the men 
fought like lions, not only for duty, and the honor 



A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. O 

of a soldier, but also because they had their wives 
and cliildren in the fort with them, and the rebels 
fought like fiends to get at them, day after day, 
but still they could not take the fort. Provision 
got low inside, and the water began to give out, but 
still the men held on. The General sent a detach- 
ment to their relief, but they had to mai'ch a long 
way under a burning Indian sun. When they 
came to the fort the rebels made a lesperate effort 
to drive them back, but they cut the rebels to 
pieces and rushed into the fort. The poor soldiers, 
all thin and worn, stood ready to welcome them 
with their wives and children by ti.°ir sides. And 
the story is, that the moment those great, rough 
soldiers saw the little children, they ran up to 
them, and caught them in their arms and began to 
cry like childi-en themselves. They could stand 
the heavy tramp through the burning Indian sun. 
They could face the enemy and drive him . like 
chaff before the wind. But the sight of little chil- 
dren broke them down, because, I suppose, every 
one of them had a picture of such little ones in 
his own heart, that he carried with him wherever 
he went. 

A soldier is commonly a rough fellow. He leads 
a rough life. He has a great many rough things 
to try him. It does not help a man, to be away 
from his home, his mother and sisters, or wife and 
children. It hurts him. He grows coarse under 



§ A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 

it, and careless. He says things that he would be 
ashamed to let a woman hear him say, because 
there is no woman about. Still, I believe a great 
many soldiei's are like a September chestnut. The 
outside is hard, and sharp, and shut up, but the 
inside is soft, and sweet, and good. 

Well, now, my friend, I do hope you will get 
strong and well, and go back to that dear old place 
again when this war is over. I tell you there is a 
great deal of love waiting for you in those hearts, 
more than they ever put into their letters. They 
think of you every day, and pretty much all day 
long. I meet mothers and sisters and wives, all 
the time, who have sons and brothers and husbands 
in the army, and it is wonderful to me to see the 
light that is in their eyes, and the color that tinges 
their check, and the tones of pride and love in 
their voices, when they mention the name of the 
dear one who has gone out to fight for them, and 
for his country. I can see very clearly how they 
feel about it, — they feel that honor is better than 
comfort; that to be true in danger is more than 
to be false and safe ; that there is a love in a 
woman for a man that is better than the love which 
would keep him at home, — a love which bids him 
go out and defend the country she loves so well, 
and the cause for which she is ready to die. 

And I want to tell you, too, that you may have a 
far better chance to get well than you think you 



A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 7 

have. Wlien a man is sick, he is ahnost sure to 
look on the dark side, to think he is worse than he 
really is. Now I have been a great deal in the 
hospitals, and have noticed that the cheerful men 
are sure to fight through the best. I knew a sol- 
dier in one of the hospitals away out in Missouri, 
who told me he had been so sick that the doctor 
told him he was sure he would die. But he told 
the doctor that he was sure he would not die, and 
he kept his word. He got well, and then the doc- 
tor had to give in, and that man was one of the 
cheerful sort. I find it is good when I feel cast 
down to look the thing square in the face and to see 
what it really means. It may be all right, or it 
may be all wrong. Now suppose we try to reckon 
up how you stand, and then see whether you ought 
not to feel very cheerful and bright. 

1. Are you a true man, or a traitor? You are a 
true man. When this foul treason shook its rattles 
and reared its head to strike at the breast of our 
great momer, and she called upon her true and brave 
sons to come, as they loved her, and defend her life 
at the peril of their own, you, my friend, were one of 
the men that sprang to her rescue. Your own home 
was very dear to you, but your countiy was dearer 
than your home. You loved your mother and sis- 
ters, or your wife and children, — God knows how 
much you loved them ; but your own mother coun- 
try, the country that gave you birth, or that adopted 



8 A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 

you as one of her own sons, she had the first claim, 
and you heard her cry for help, and answered it, by 
putting your own stout heart between your country 
and her foes. Your own life was dear to you. It 
was said long ago, and indeed some men say now, 
that all that a man has he will give for his hfe. 
But it was the Devil who said it, and you have 
shown by your deed that it was a lie. A mere 
base coward will give all that he has for his life. 
But you will not give your self-respect, or your 
liberty, or, above all, the honor of your country, for 
your life. Yonder is a bit of bunting floating over 
the camp ; we call it " the stars and stripes," " the 
dear old flag," " the red, white, and blue " ; one by 
one those stars have come up in the firmament of 
our nation from thirteen to thirty-four. Now this 
foul treason tries to tear those stars out of their 
places, and you have fought to keep them in their 
places until you are crippled or broken down by 
sickness. Here you are a sick man, and that piece 
of bunting seems to be only a small matter, but it 
stands for the honor and pride of America, and if a 
traitor should try to tear it down, and tram2)le it 
m the dust, you would crawl out and shoot him 
down if you died the next minute, you know you 
would, you could not help it. And so I say you 
are a true man, not a traitor, and you have a right 
to be proud and glad of that, and to keep a stout 
heart through it all. 



A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 9 

2. Are you a man loved or neglected ? You are a 
man loved. Not only do the old folks at home love 
you, or the wife and children, but the whole country 
is aflame with love to every brave man who stands 
in her defence. Tens of thousands of women, from 
Eastport to San Francisco, ai-e working for you 
every day with a most touching earnestness, and 
sending their stores to our noble Sanitary Commis- 
sion to be given to you ; and as they work they 
think about you, and talk about you, — and if you 
came and stood in the doorway where they are at 
work, and said, " I am a soldier of the Republic, I 
am sick and need nursing," you would find in that 
company exactly as many nurses as there were 
women, and not one but you would think might be 
your mother or sister for her tenderness and care I 
And the whole loyal country loves you and honors 
you ! The citizen soldier, if he be a brave, true 
man, is the peer of the foremost men in the state I 
The upper ten has lost its old meaning. It means 
every man now that has sprung out to the rescue of 
the old flag, and is in his place, sick or well, — ahve 
to fight, or fallen with his face to the foe. 

3. But though you know that you are so loved 
and cared for by not only those at home but by the 
good everywhere, you may fear that God does not 
love you or care for you. You sometimes think 
how bad you have talked or done, and can hardly be- 
lieve that the good Father can care for you. You 



10 A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 

fear that he would not be glad to give you what you 
need, and bestow what you ask for, that he would 
not help you to grow better and be better. I say, he 
desires more to bless you than you can desire to be 
blessed. He is more willing to give than you can 
be to receive. The poorest, the saddest, the most 
thoughtless of him, when they seek him like Uttle 
children, trusting in his goodness, are received 
home by him. Let us see, my brother, if it is not 
so. Suppose you had a particular flower, and 
wanted to save the seed. But in the summer the 
canker and worms got at it, and there was only just 
one grain left, would you throw that one grain 
away when the stalk was dead ? No ; you would 
take more care of that one grain than if you had a 
bushel ; and you would plant it in the spring, and 
try again. Now, if you will find a man who has 
not one grain of good in him I shall think he is in 
danger of being entirely lost, because there is noth- 
inof in him that is worth saving. But I never 
found such a man in my hfe, never. Every man 
has some grain of good in him, and just as Christ 
tells us that the shepherd cai'es more for the one lost 
sheep, until he finds it, than he cares for the ninety 
and nine that are safe, so will God care more for 
that one grain of good in you and me than more in 
better men, ay, and plant it and nurse it in a new 
soil and in a new spring-time, when this dead stalk 
shall fall away from it, — because there is not an- 



A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 11 

other seed just like it in all the creation, and be- 
cause God loves everything that he has made. He 
loves you better than your own father or mother or 
wife loves you, — better than you love your own 
children, if you have any. 

We had a boy in one of our Western regiments 
who was what you might call a hard case. To 
watch him, you would think he did not care for any- 
thing or for anybody ; and if you had asked him, I 
suppose he would have said he did n't. Well, in 
one of our first battles he was shot, and the moment 
the ball struck him he cried out, " O my mother ! " 
and then died. Now there you see was the grain 
of good. I do not know a thing about that young 
man's history except what he told then, but that 
is a key to all the rest. He was a bright, mis- 
chievous little fellow in his Western home, and 
gave his mother a great deal of trouble. But she 
used to get him to kneel down at her knee before 
he went to bed, and taught him to say, " Our Fath- 
er which art in heaven." When he grew up, he 
was wild and noisy and reckless, but his mother 
held on to him, and loved him through it all. One 
day after the war broke out he came home, and 
said, " Mother, I 've 'listed," and his mother wept, 
but she did not ask him not to go, because she knew 
he was to fight in a noble cause. And when he 
went away she had a little bundle of things for him, 
— shirts and stockings, and things that she had 



12 A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 

made herself, — and then she kissed him, and he left 
her. But when he stood on guard in the night, or 
lay in his tent, he thought of his mother tenderly. 
And when he fell into his place before the battle, he 
thought of his mother, and his heart grew strong ; 
and " Mother " was the last word on his lips. 
Now did that boy's mother love him right through ? 
Yes. If she had had the power would she have been 
instantly at his side when he fell ? You know she 
would. "Will she love him when she meets him in 
another world ? Yes ; better than ever. And is 
God our Father in heaven less tender in his love 
than our father and mother on earth ? I say, no. 
The love of the best father and mother in the world 
is no more than a poor shadow of the love of God. 
God is love, and he loves us right through. He 
loves us here, he will love us yonder. He loves us 
now, he will love us forever. Death makes no dif- 
ference with the love of God. When the body is 
dead, then God takes that one good grain that is in 
us all, and plants it again in better soil than this, 
and under a kindlier sky, and he will care for us 
and see to our growth forever and forever. 

And so I say cheer up. You are a true, brave 
man. You have fought in a noble cause. Amer- 
ica is proud of her sons. Ten thousand hearts beat 
faster for your holy devotion. Those that knew 
you and loved you before love you now with a love 
deeper than ever. Mothers say, This is my son ; 



A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 13 

sisters say, This is my brother ; wives say, This is 
my husband ; children say. This is my father ; and 
the whole loyal nation says. This is a soldier of the 
Republic, a defender of the right, a man to stand 
beside the men of '76, our soldier and our son. 
And I do hope, my friend, if you have been a 
wicked man, when you get well you will take a 
new start. Nay, take it now you are sick. If you 
have done a good deal of hard, coarse swearing, you 
will feel how wrong it is to speak so of Him who 
loves you so well, and you will drop it entirely. It 
will do you no good. It will do you harm. If you 
do not take care, you will be shocked when you get 
back home, to find how you have run down in the 
things that make a gentleman, a true man. 

Take care what you eat and drink, both now and 
when you get into camp again ; some men dig their 
graves with their teeth, and some burn their inside 
out with bad whiskey, just as much as if they had 
swallowed melted lead. Keep as clean as you can. 
Some men seem to think that a man is hke an egg, 
that you can keep him fresh longest in salt brine, 
for they hardly ever wash after any amount of pro- 
fuse perspiration. But a man is like a flower, he 
keeps fresh best with pure water. When the people 
went to a man who was very old and very hearty, 
and wanted to know his secret, how he managed to 
be so hearty, he said, Keep your head cool, keep 
your feet warm. Be a good man. Try to do right, 



14 A LETTER TO A SICK SOLDIER. 

to love God and serve him. In other words, take 
care of your body and soul too, and then you may 
snap your fingers at the doctors. And so, dear 
friend, I say to you, good by ; God bless you ; keep 
a stout heart. "We are in the right ; our cause is 
just and good ; we fight to preserve our birthright. 
The fathers are with us. The good men all over 
the world are with us ; and, finally, God is with us, 
and we shall conquer, and be once more a great 
and strong nation. 

Leaves fall, but, lo, the j'oung buds peep! 

Flowers die, but still their seed shall bloom ! 

From death the quick young life will leap, 

When spring shall come and touch the tomb. 

The splendid shiver of brave blood 

Is thrilling through our country now, 

And she who in old times withstood 

The tj'rant lifts again her brow. 

God's precious charge we sternly keep 

Unto the final victory; 

With freedom we will live, or sleep 

With our great dead who set us free. 

God forget us when we forget 

To keep the old flag flying yet. 



Army Series.] [No. 8. 

AN 



ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 



S. H. WINKLEY, 



BOSTON: 

AMEKICAN UNITAEIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1863. 



AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 



Soldiers ! What are we fighting for ? Is it 
simply for victory ? — Certainly not. It is for 
our national existence. But were the nation a 
mere band of pirates, would soldiers fight for it ? 
The more thoroughly excellent a nation and its 
institutions, the more ready are we to make any 
sacrifice for it. If this be so, anything which les- 
sens the worth of the nation destroys that which 
we would preserve ; more, if anything, than oppos- 
ing forces of armed men. To be consistent, a 
soldier's duty is double : to fight, indeed, and that 
bravely ; but also to promote virtue, and that zeal- 
ously, — to be manly, noble, and true every way. 
Many a man will fight well, and yet prove recreant 
to virtue ; — will face a battery, yet flinch at a 
sneer. These, without in the least intending it, are 
enemies within the lines. This is just as true of 
citizens at home and of public men everywhere. 

'Tis not because any of these intend thus to 
become. Of course nearly all would reject the ac- 
cusation with scorn. This is the hopeful part of 



4 AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 

the whole subject, and makes it worth while to write 
a word. Nor are they in love with vice. Men 
prefer, at least in their judgments, a good man to a 
bad one. So says every soldier on furlough, when 
put to the test. 

Therefore let us listen to a talk between two sol- 
diers, on one form of unfaithfulness to the service 
and the country ; namely, profanity. 

John. Do you really think there is much harm 
in profanity, Charley ? 

Charles. I do. 

John. But it is so tame and formal to be so 
very precise in all your language, especially among 
the boys. 

Charles. You need not be so very precise, only 
use proper words. 

John. But, dear me ! when a man is pent up 
and overflowing he must have emphatic words. 

Charles. No one objects to that. The best 
thing you can do is to select some emphatic words, 
or do as a certain English king did. 

John. How was that ? 

Charles. A king of England, being very much 
shocked at the pi'ofanity of his court, tried various 
methods to improve matters, but in vain. At last a 
wise counsellor suggested that he should give his 
court a certain unmeaning word, and insist upon 
their using it instead of the profane expressions. 
He did so, and it worked to a charm. Profanity 



AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 5 

disappeared, and with it all its accompanying rough- 
ness and vulgarity. 

John. That is all very nice. But not one fellow 
among a dozen really means any more harm by his 
profane language, as you call it, than you and others 
do by your emphatic words, " unmeaning " or oth- 
erwise. 

Charles. Very likely. But one thing is certain, 
there is more evil in them ; why not, therefore, omit 
them ? they certainly are not absolutely essential. 

John. Well, no, not absolutely essential, but 
very convenient. 

Charles. And yet one of the most active and 
ardent men in your company has managed to get 
along without anything of the sort. 

John. O yes ; but he made a bargain with a 
certain Miss Mary before leaving home, that during 
his absence he would not use a word to which she 
would object ; and he is bound to fulfil the agree- 
ment. 

Charles. Do you like him any the less for it ? 

John. Like him any the less, — I '11 bet we 
don't. Why, he 's one of the noblest fellows I ever 
knew. 

Charles. There's nothing " tame " or " formal " 
about him, is there ? 

John. Not a bit of it. He 's the life of the tent. 

Charles. Why should you not all follow his 
example ? 



b AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 

John. O, I don't know, — I don't see any great 
harm in spicing your conversation a little. Why, 
Charley, some of the best fellows in the army do 
this. For my own part, I neither drink nor 
gamble. In those things I see mischief. But in 
this strong mode of utterance, I not only fail to see 
any mischief done to myself, but I am conscious of 
its being quite a safe channel of relief for some 
pretty strong emotions. 

Charles. No doubt you think so, especially when 
judging of your own conduct You would not do so 
concerning another, especially if that other had a 
fault which you do not possess. Take, for example, 
the case of Ned. You told me the other day that 
he had ceased to be the neat, orderly fellow he was 
formerly, and yet he is hai'dly aware of it in him- 
self, though he still notices untidiness in others. 
Do you not see how that is? Gradually he has 
yielded to surrounding influences, by which he has 
blunted his perception, so that he does not recognize 
his own failures, while he sees those of others. It 
is just so with profanity ; our first profane word is 
awful ; but not those we utter every day. The first 
time we hear a child, or some person unaccustomed 
to profanity, use such language, we are again 
shocked, and then we get used to all this- Only 
let our chaplain use profane language, and the 
roughest boy among us would be "down on him." 

John. That's so. But that is different. 



AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 7 

Cliarles. Not at all different, providing there is 
no wrong in profanity. 

John. O, I do not mean to defend profanity. 

Charles. Then you acknowledge it is somewhat 
wrong. Do you remember how you protested 
against your brother's using such language, the first 
time you heard a profane word fall from his lips ? 

John. Of course. Well, I suppose it would be 
as well if we did not use some words. 

Charles. Such as what ? 

John. Such as include the name of the Deity. 

Charles. Why except those ? 

John. Well, if a human officer, who may or 
may not be much of a man, is to receive marks of 
respect, I think the Almighty should be so much 
regarded as to prevent his name being used with 
any lightness. 

Charles. Well said, John ! that 's pretty near 
the mark. I am inclined to think if you really 
knew what a Blessed Being he is, you wduld never 
listen to that kind of language without pain, — not 
at least while he keeps your heart beating. The 
fact is, the boys are not aware of what they are 
doing. There is too much true feeUng in most of 
them to continue this kind of talk, if they once 
realized what it meant. 

John. I think quite hkely. I begin to see it 
myself in a new light. 

Charles. Good ! Well, if you do, I '11 guarantee 



8 AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 

you will be pained at the next improper use of His 
name who alone has constant and watchful care 
of us. 

John. And this is why you object to it ? 

Charles. This is one reason ; for, if it troubles 
me, how much more all true mothers and sisters, — 
and how extremely painful to all heavenly ones, 
and especially to our Heavenly Father. 

.John. You say this is one reason ; what other 
objection have you ? 

Charles. This, — it blunts that feeling of re- 
spect and tender regard for our Heavenly Father 
which we call reverence. 

John. Why, you talk of God as if he really 
had as great and as personal an interest in me as 
my mother has ! 

Charles. Certainly, — he has more than that. 
Would that the boys only knew him as they know 
their mothers, they would be even more jealous of 
hearing him sjioken of lightly than now of hearing 
their fathers and mothers so spoken of. 

John. I see ! I see ! 'T is very certain that 
we cannot care rnuch for, or even respect much, one 
whose name becomes a mere byword. I am in- 
clined to think that these special expressions, — 
mind you, Charley, only those having the name of 
God in them, — might as well be given up. 

Charles. Bravo, John ! bravo ! 

John. Mind you, Charley, I am not getting 
pious. 



AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 9 

Charles. Don't fear, my dear fellow, I under- 
stand you. You mean that you will at least hold 
God in respect, if you do not thoroughly love him. 

John. Yes. I think any of us might and should 
do that. And now, Mr. Preacher, I guess I must 
be off. 

Charles. Hold on, John. You shall call me 
preacher as often as you will, especially if you will 
let me talk to some purpose, as I have this morning ; 
but I am not done. Don't go out in the middle of 
my sermon. 

John. "Well, talk fast, Charley. What more ? 
We have certainly settled this point. 

Charles. Yes, and all the more I want to settle 
another. Those other profane expressions which 
have not the name of God in them, — why not dis- 
pose of them ? 

John. What, come right up to James's stand- 
ard ? I '11 wait till I get a Mary first. 

Charles. But why wait for that ? Are there 
not many Marys and mothers and sisters at home 
who will be delighted at every step we take in this 
direction ? Besides, John, these profane and coarse 
words are exceedingly mischievous in their results. 

John. Don't see it, Charley. 

Charles. I am afraid you do not. I also fear 
that many others do not see it ; and yet it is obvious 
enough. 

John. How so ? 



10 AN ENEMY AVITHIN THE LINES. 

Charles. You have heard the story of the 
Quaker who cured a quarrelsome couple ? He gave 
to the wife a bottle, and told her to fill her mouth 
with a liquid which she would find in it, whenever 
her husband began to scold. The woman did so, 
and was amazed to find how charmingly it worked. 
She came to the Quaker for more, who assured her 
that water, or what was the same in effect, silence, 
would do as well. 

John. A good story. 

Charles. Now these profane words that you 
use produce just the opposite effect. They kindle 
and cherish, instead of quenching, the fire of any 
quick temper. 

John. Do you think so ? 

Charles. Most assuredly. You well know that 
you could not get James into such unkind quarrels 
as two others of your fellows often have. 

Johi. No; but then they are different fellows. 

Charles. Certainly different. But if those two 
could be induced to set aside all their rough, pro- 
fane language, you well know that they would not 
be so very different after all. 

John. That would alter them, certainly. 

Charles. It would indeed, — not only exter- 
nally, but internally. Their whole manner of doing 
things would be exceedingly improved ; but what is 
more, their whole disposition would be more im- 
proved. They could not be so quarrelsome. 



AN ENEMY A^^ITHIN THE LINES. 11 

John. Upon your principle, that " practice makes 
perfect," you think if they practised in the use of 
an opposite and better set of words, they would 
eventually become as efficient in that drill as this. 

Charles. Yes, indeed. 

John. Well, I guess that 's so. 

Charles. Besides, " out of the abundance of the 
heart the mouth speaketh." 

John. That is rather an argument on my side ; 
for if the heart is full of these things, we might as 
well speak them as think them. 

Charles. Not quite. I once heard a profane 
young man make a similar remark to that, when a 
mother, who was standing by, said to him, " Had 
you not let out what was in you, my poor boy Avould 
never have learned profanity, — at least from you ! " 
to which the young man's own mother immediately 
added, " And had it not been for othei's' profanity, 
you would not to day have been yourself profane, 
and blamed for others' profanity." 

John. There is something in that, certainly. • 

Charles. There is a great deal in it. John, you 
and all who are profane are either teaching others 
this wretched habit, or are confirming those ah'eady 
profane in their rough and coarse practices. 

Joh7i. A little more, Charley, and you will get 
the Chaplain's last text : " By thy words thou shalt 
be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be con- 
demned." 



12 AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 

Charles. A most excellent text. It is doubly 
true ; for such words are witnesses that Ave have 
such thoughts in the mind, and so convict us of the 
evil within. They also condemn us, because we 
thereby furnish a supply for others, and so help 
degrade our brother. 

John. There 's something in that. I dislike this 
influencing others ; but as to self, I think we only let 
out what is in us. 

Charles. Not quite. By uttering such words, 
you not only keep active, but you strengthen the 
habit ; whereas by silence you check and destroy 
it. You stop speaking a language you have learned, 
and you soon lose it. It goes out of you by neglect. 
So you stop speaking this language, and it goes out 
of you. It is no more of the abundance of your 
heart. You are filled with better thoughts, and will 
be, until you allow the evil spirit to influence or 
flow into you, as your words have influenced or 
flowed into others. 

John. I never thought of that before. 

Charles. There are others equally thoughtless. 
Besides, these profane words lead not only back to 
those expressions that include the name of the 
Deity, but on to many a vicious word and thought 
that fire other evil passions. 

John. Yes, that 's true. "Well, really, I do not 
know but that I would rather not die a profane 
man. 



AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 13 

Charles. Then, John, perhaps you would like to 
undo what you and others have done, and so die or 
live a man who has exerted a different influence 
and led many to your present convictions. There- 
by you will so far fit for heaven those whose profan- 
ity alone would entirely unfit them for such compan- 
ionship ; or send home an improved son, husband, 
brother ; or give to the nation a better citizen. 

John. Well, I have never professed much re- 
ligion ; but as to just this, I should prefer, if I 
were sick or dying this day, or going to either of 
those two homes, to think that my influence had 
been on one side rather than the other. 

Charles. Besides, John, is it not the duty of 
every soldier to do double duty, — first, to make of 
every rebel a loyal citizen, and second, to make 
of every man a worthy citizen ? So only shall the 
nation be saved, — in any real sense. 

John. Yes, I suppose so. 

Charles. Then, John, let self-respect, friendship 
to the boys, love of country, remembrance of home, 
and some small interest in Him who loves us so 
well, as also in his Son, who even died to remove 
sin from man, move us both to work bravely and 
diligently in this. 

John. Well may you say bravely ; for, Charley, 
I believe there are just two obstacles in the way, 
■ — one is habit, the other is cowardice. Of the two 
I believe cowardice is the greatest difficulty. As a 



14 AN ENEMY WITHIN THE LINES. 

soldier, I feel ashamed to acknowledge this, but so 
it is. 

Charles. I think that this is even so. But sui*e- 
ly jou will not allow that to hinder you, when con- 
vinced of the propriety, manhness, and beneficial 
results of a course. 

John. No, Charley, I will not. Here is my 
hand on it. I will do my best. 

Charles. Good ! Depend upon it, there will 
be one less enemy within the lines. God will bless 
you, and all true men will say, Amen. 



Army Series.] [No. 9. 

WOUNDED 



IN THE HANDS OP THE ENEMY. 



JOHN F. W. WARE, 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 
1863. 



WOUNDED 

AND IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY. 



We sat cibout the table, quietly talking over the 
latest rumors of the battle we knew still to be rag- 
ing. There was a heavy weight upon all our hearts, 
though no one had confessed it. All through the 
weary houi's of that weary day, a nameless dread 
had held us. We each had looked it, but none had 
spoken. It was late, and yet we lingered, that 
undefined feeling of approaching evil which had 
haunted the day settling more moodily over us 
at the thought of the night, — its separation, its 
silence, and its solitude. 

A quick, sharp ring at the door startled us. No 
one moved or spoke, yet that sound went deep and 
heavy into each heart, — the knell of hope. You 
could see the bracing up of each to hear the tidings 
we instinctively knew had come, — the convulsive 
clasping of fingers, the painful heaving of the 
breath, the pallor of the cheek, the quiver of the 
lip, — a short, sharp, terrible struggle, — a grasp 
ing after faith, an effort at resignation ; — and still 
no word, no movement. 



4 WOUNDED AND 

The door opened ; one of us rose and received 
the fatal message, " Wounded and in the hands of 
the enemy " / and his voice sunk as he hardly whis- 
pered, " Prohahly dead." No nobler spirit had 
gone out to battle than his whose sad fate was thus 
so fearfully foreshadowed. Idol of his home, idol 
of his men, he had fallen in the front, loyal to his 
country and loyal to his God. 

How frequently all up and down the land in the 
past two years have these short, abrupt messages 
come, telling of the good, the beautiful, the honored, 
who have passed amid battle flame out of the life 
of the body into the presence of God ! Scarcely a 
home, scarcelj' a heart, but has learned to quail 
before them. 

" Woimded and in the hands of the enemy" ! 
There is something these words may mean more 
terrible to yourselves and your truest friends than 
this which the telegraph tells. That tells only of 
what has befallen the body, of the pain, of the peril 
to it. You know that you are not merely bodies ; 
that you are souls, and souls cannot die. They are 
that in us over which death has no power. They 
are that in us which ally us to God. Upon them 
has he breathed a portion of his own inspiration, and 
it is these, and not our bodies, which are said to 
have been made in the image of God. All this I 
hardly need tell you. You know it already. Yet 
you and I too often forget it. 



IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY. O 

Now our souls may be wounded as well as our 
bodies, which can be bruised by shot and shell, or 
cut by sword or pierced by bayonet ; and these 
wounds leave scars. You know the soldier who 
has been struck down in battle always after by that 
sure sign in the flesh. His scar is a token of honor. 
It is his pride. It may not be possible for human 
eyes, for our own, always to see the scar on the 
soul, — the sign, the token of its wound, — but God 
sees it, and some day we ourselves, and perhaps 
others, shall see it again, and not as a thing for our 
pride, to our honor. 

What is it wounds the soul ? Sin, — the con- 
scious, wilful disobedience of any Divine command, 
the regular, persistent following up of any low desire 
or habit, the willing estrangement of the soul from 
the knowledge and service of God, — or, in a less 
degree, the impulsive, transient yielding to what 
is not honorable or truthful or pure. And these 
wounds are self-inflicted. They are all from within. 
The wounds of the body are from without, by some 
external foe. But no outward power can wound 
the soul. There is never any wound to it unless 
by its own consent, unless it lends its own power to 
assist the power of temptation. So long as you do 
not love the thing that tempts you, it is powerless 
over you ; but so soon as you begin to love it, you 
lend it the power of your love, and your danger 
begins. Before it can give you much trouble, 



6 WOUNDED AND 

temptation must have an ally in the heart, and 
when that ally gi'ows to a love, the temptation 
masters you. The strength of sin is love. 

And these wounds put you in the hand of the 
enemy. You know the great Enemy is said to 
have tempted the Saviour. He did not love the 
things with which his enemy tempted him. They 
had no ally in his heart. So they were powerless. 
If he had loved them, yielding himself, he would 
have put himself into the hands of that enemy. 
You may be cut down, maimed, left on the battle- 
field, suffer nameless horrors, and yet be brought 
off by your comrades, and escape the enemy. But 
if you suffer yourself to be wounded in your soul, if 
you wound yourself, by the same act you fall into 
the hands, or rather you deliver yourself into the 
hands of the enemy, — into the most terrible and 
hopeless captivity and bondage. All that has been 
told us of those privations and barbarities of the 
prisons in Richmond, or the merciless tortures of 
guerillas along the Mississippi, are not so terrible. 
It is a fate to which you have bound yourself, for 
which you cannot justly blame anybody, — a fate 
whose full misery you cannot wholly know in 
this life. 

Is there no help ? You remember that beautiful 
parable' about the man who fell among thieves ? 
He lay wounded and beaten and half dead right on 
the highway between Jerusalem and Jericho, and 



IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY. 7 

all sorts of persons must have passed him besides 
the priest and the Levite, whose duty it was to 
have stopped and comforted him. By and by 
came the right man, with a warm, true, tender 
heart. Perhaps you have known something like 
this. You have been wounded, — have wounded 
yourself. You hive been in the hands of the ene- 
my, half dead, — your life, your soul, given up, too 
willingly, to selfish or bad things. You have not 
found help from any. Men have passed you by. 
You have wished you could have help to lift you 
out of your sorry condition. You have felt if you 
could only have the right help you could struggle 
back out of the clutch of the enemy, if not away 
from the scar of your wounds. The riglit help 
came at last to the Jew, — there is a right help for 
you. 

The right help is Jesus, the Saviour, the gentle 
and loving one, all whose life was spent in going 
about and doing good, seeking and saving the lost. 
You cannot see him. You cannot meet him by 
the wayside, as the woman of Samaria did ; you 
cannot feel the wound in your body, your useless 
arm, or your maimed leg grow strong again at his 
word ; you cannot hear his word of encouragement, 
or his assurance that your sins are forgiven ; you 
cannot feel the wound within you healing up, as 
Zaccheus did when Jesus bade him come from the 
tree, as Magdalen did when he told her her sins 



8 WOUNDED AND 

were forgiven. But there is a record of his life 
and words left us, and through these you can come 
to know him, love him, be strengthened, and saved. 
By a study, a long and loving and thorough study 
of his principles and purposes, you may get his 
motives and his helps, and grow into his life. You 
may not see or hear him, but you may get his spirit. 
By hearing and reading of good men, you get 
something of their spirit ; a desire springs up in 
3'ou to go and do likewise. They prompt you to 
better things. Much more if you will come to 
realize that there was such a being as Jesus of 
Nazareth, full of such a spirit, living such a life, 
will that realization be a quickening power within 
you, like a strong and mighty arm breaking the 
thrall of your bondage, standing between you and 
the enemy, helping you to escape in your weakness, 
and making you in the end strong enough to resist 
so that the very gates of hell shall not prevail 
against you. 

If you are in hospital, turn the weary hours of 
your convalescence to some good, by seeking to 
know this Saviour who is so mighty in his help ; if 
you are in camp, on guard, on picket, or on ordinary 
duty, seize the opportunities, which may be made 
many, for knowing Him who loved and gave himself 
for you. Out of that knowledge will grow a love 
beyond all loves, a power beyond all powers, which 
will snatch you from every enemy, and give you 



IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY. 9 

healing to every wound ; and you who went out to 
fight the foes of your country, when you come back 
conquerors over them, may also come back more 
than conquerors over yourselves, through the knowl- 
edge and the service of Him who will give every 
faithful soul victory over itself. 



Army Series.] [No. 10. 

TRAITORS IN CAMP. 



BY 



y 

JOHN F. W. WARE 



BOSTON: 
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1863. 



TRAITORS IN CAMP. 



Experience has taught you that your foes are 
not all in the ranks of the enemy. If they were, 
your work would be comparatively easy. You 
would have only one thing to do ; and, however , 
numerous and determined and powerful, you would 
feel some security in advancing upon them. You 
would see the worst, and be prepared. 

Every cause has most to fear from secret, inter- 
nal opposition, — from traitors rather than from 
enemies. There are men so bad and mean as al- 
ways to be willing to lend themselves to overthrow 
the thing they profess to cherish. There were 
traitors in the armies of the Revolution : there are 
traitors in the armies of to-day. And not only 
must the good general guard against these, but 
every individual soldier. A traitor in camp must 
be immediately exposed and expelled. 

So evident is this, that I doubt not every one of 
you is fully on his guard, that you have no treach- 
erous intentions yourselves, and do not mean that 
there shall be any among your comrades. 



4 TBAITORS IN CAMP. 

Though you now are soldiers, you still are men. 
Your great duty to your country does not override 
your always greater duty to yourselves. There is 
another warfare you are to wage beside this in 
which you now are enlisted, — the same old war- 
fare which devolved on you while you were at 
home, in which there is no exemption, in which 
none is allowed to be disable, and which is never 
over till life is over. It is that great warfare in 
which we all are conscript. 

In this wai'fare, as in that outer warfare you are 
now waging, the great danger does not lie in the 
enemy in front of you, whom you can see, whose 
forces are marshalled where you can attack or 
resist them, but in secret, internal enemies, — trai- 
tors. The Saviour, when he was warning his dis- 
ciples of dangers and trials before them, told them 
that their foes would be of their own household. 
So the real foes to our uprightness are of our 
household. They are in ourselves, — of the heart. 

Now I think that one reason why men do not 
grow any better, one reason why all their self-con- 
flict is to so little purpose, is, that they think sin 
is some ^reat thing outside of them, — some one 
power or presence which they are to watch, guard 
against, repel, — and forget too much that sin is 
rather a power, a presence, an affection, inside of 
them, — a position, a condition of the heart. The 
treachery of one's own heart to what it knows to 



TRAITORS IN CAMP. O 

be right is the great cause of sin. There is hardly 
a more important warning, or one that needs more 
frequently to be repeated, than that contained in 
the last line of a verse many of you have often 
heard read and sung : — 

" Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground; 
Perils and snares beset thee round : 
Beware of all; guard every part; 
But most the traitor in thy heart." 

It will not do, however, to think that there is 
but one traitor in the heart, one great secret foe. 
There are many, and in themselves they are gen- 
erally small, — so small individually that we either 
overlook them or consider them of no importance. 
What possible harm can come of such little things ? 
There is our mistake ; there is our danger. It is 
the little foxes that destroy the vines ; the little 
mites that eat out the strength of the strongest 
ship ; the little sins that sap the vigor of the no- 
blest manhood. If there were but one, and that 
a Goliah in the camp, which went up and down 
raging and boasting and challenging, we should 
have little to fear. Some smooth stone from our 
faithful arm would lay it low. But these little 
things do not alarm us, do not set us on the watch, 
do not call our prudence or principle into exercise. 
They lull us rather into security, and we rouse 
ourselves at last only to find that we are utterly, 
fatally, within their grasp. Perhaps, in the old 



6 TRAITORS IN CAMP. 

days when you were a boy in the old home, you 
read the marvellous story of the traveller cast on 
the strange shore, who, on rousing from his swoon, 
found himself helpless, tied to the earth by a myr- 
iad tiny threads, while a host of little people not 
bigger than his finger were clambering over him, 
and seeking to make his captivity the more sure. 
There he lay, a very giant, at the mercy of these 
pygmies, each single one of which was beneath his 
notice, even his contempt. That is just the way 
the great life in man often lies prostrate, helpless, 
at the uprising of a host of little things, which, 
watching the time when they could take him una- 
wares, have sprung upon and mastered him. He 
would have been as safe as David, had he but one 
big foe to contend with. 

It would not be easy to enumerate these small 
traitors in our hearts. They are very many and 
very various. You can easily ascertain what are 
your own personal sins. That is the necessity for 
each one of us, and it only needs a little persistence 
and a right courage. I want merely to point you 
to a class of treacheries which all of us need par- 
ticularly to think of and watch against, for they do 
a deep mischief, from which we hardly recover. I 
mean that class of sins called secret, not because 
they are unknown to ourselves, but because they 
are hidden from others. You practise them, but 
men do not know it. There is no punishment or 



TRAITORS IN CAMP. 7 

shame to you, because you are not found out. If 
you should be in some cases, you would still escape 
all human censure. Some sins ai'e so common, so 
popular, so all but universal, that it would be hke 
blaming one's self to censure them ; so they escape. 
Are they the less sins ? Are they the less treach- 
erous ? Is it not a great mistake of ours to think 
so much about what men know, approve, or con- 
demn, and so Httle about what God knows ? Some 
secret sins, vices, leave deeper scars upon the soul 
than any open ones. The fact that they are secret, 
the necessity that is on us to keep them hid, give 
them a greater power over us. The hidden sin is 
the one we are likely specially to cosset. It is the 
one we are likely most deeply to love, while it 
works us the most deadly ill. It thrives through 
our love, becomes in the end our tyrant, perhaps 
our destroyer. 

Some of these are peculiarly camp sins. The 
exposure is great, the giving way easy, the corrup- 
tion fearful. In camp, too, you want many of the 
safeguards of home, — that invisible influence of 
home-love which embraces and shields you, and 
keeps you, without your knowing it, from much 
of the evil in the world. They have you at a 
vantage now, and so you must watch and work 
the more zealously against them, lest home shall 
find the man who goes back to her worse than 
he who went out. Shun their polluting as you 



TRAITORS IN CAMP. 



would the contagion of a disease. They lie in 
Avait and ensnare, and then lead you very far from 
the way of integrity. They make wounds deep 
and hideous, — wounds that fester and spread, and 
draw the vital vigor of your manhood. Thoughts, 
imaginations, desires, practices indulged in secretly, 
are not harmful merely in what they directly do, 
but they carry their taint into all the intercourse 
of life, and make the heart, the man, unsound. He 
may cover all up from human vision, and none 
suspect the man that he is within; but the sin is 
not the less foul, the danger not the less deep, the 
injury not the less fatal. The brand Cain bore 
marked him among men ; but without it was he 
not just as much known to, just as much outcast 
with, God ? 

Now all such traitors must be hunted up, brand- 
ed, expelled. You can have no security till they 
are. You will always be weak in the presence of 
temptation while they remain. They will always 
be warring against you, sapping the integrity of 
your best purpose, and holding you every hour in 
jeopardy. It will not do to allow one to remain. 
It will not do to consider one as too insignificant. 
It is the little thing that sometimes destroys the 
soul, — not the great, darling sin, which men see 
and condemn, but some little treacherous love, 
which has secretly sapped the moral power, and 
left the man to outward seeming fair and firm 



TRAITORS IN CAIIP. VJ 

and strong, while indeed lie is rotten and worth- 
less. 

" The meanest foe of all the train 
Has thousands and ten thousands slain." 

One of the phrases which has been common in 
this war is, " War to the hiife, and the knife to the 
hilt." "When applied to men, that seems only sav- 
age. It shows an inveterate hatred ; it speaks of 
extermination ; it tells of struggle with no quarter. 
It is such warfare, however, every one should wage 
against the secret, treacherous things in himself. 
It is the Christian's duty, — the way to the Chris- 
tian's victory. 



Army Series.] 



[No. IL 



CHANGE OF BASE. 



JOHN F. W. WARE, 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1863. 



A CHAKGE OF BASE. 



It has been the necessity, it may have been the 
misfortune, of our contest, that it has demanded a 
frequent change of base in the operations of its most 
prominent army. By many it has been made a 
subject of ridicule, as arguing weakness, want of 
foresight and plan in govprnment or its generals. 
There are men who always feel so about any 
change. It is thought to be a symptom, a con- 
fession, either of ignorance or fickleness. This is 
not just. The strong man, the wise man, never 
hesitates to accept a change when he is convinced 
of its worth. It is not possible always to be wise 
the first time, and to continue wrong when the 
wrong is discovered, though you may call it consist- 
ency, is only self-will, folly, and madness. When 
battles have bet^n fought, strategy exhausted, de- 
feats ssutforcd, when reverses have accumulated, and 
demoralization i^ threatened, when all has been 
done from the old base that can be, it is no weak- 
ness to desert it. To remain is sure disaster ; to 
change, to betrin again, has a larj^e element of hope 



4 A CUANGE OF BASE. 

in it. A nation, a general, a man, is greater in own- 
ing a mistake than in adhering to it. 

The old base, then, must be abandoned. A change 
must be made. Everything demands it. And in 
choosing the new, the careful general, guided by 
past experience, will endeavor not merely to escape 
the peculiar difficulties, weaknesses, disadvantages, 
of his old position, but will seek one which shall 
present, at the start, most palpably, the largest ele- 
ment of success, — one which shall in itself inspire 
his men and the country with confidence, — one 
which shall impel all to say, at once, This last is 
better than the first. He must make it his last 
change, and the campaign from it final and com- 
plete. 

Now, with many of you, as with so many every- 
where, your life campaign is thus far a failure. 
You have not been what you ought to be ; you 
have not done what you ought to do. You have 
not satisfied yourself, you have not satisfied God. 
When temptations have assaulted, you have skulked 
and run, you have laid down your arms and surren- 
dered, or fought with so little heart that you have 
been defeated. When principle ordered you to the 
front, you have refused duty ; when prudence bade 
you watch, you have slumbered at your post. You 
have been many ways unfaithful. The verdict of 
your own conscience is against you. You look 
back upon a long line of mistakes, of greater or 



A CHANGE OF BASE. O 

lesser positive wrongs and sins. At times, this 
troubles you. You don't like to think of life wast- 
ing so. You really want to make something better 
out of it, to become another man. You resolve to 
mend. You mend a little, but you soon fall back. 
And every new resolve is followed by the same 
experience, untU you lose courage and hope, and 
cease all effort at reform. 

What is the difficulty? The old, the common, 
the almost universal difficulty, — Yotjk life has 
HAD A WRONG BASE. You have been operating 
from wrong motives, principles. You have pursued 
wrong objects. You have had wrong desires. The 
whole tone of life has been low and unworthy. 
You have lived for self, for outward decency, for 
social respectabihty, for human approval. You 
have not had God and duty first. You have never 
laid a broad, deep, substantial, immovable founda- 
tion upon which you could build a superstructure 
of character and life against which floods and winds 
might beat in vain, which should stand siege and 
sap of any foe. You have only a shallow, super- 
ficial foundation, and are always in danger of a fall. 
Life that has not a proper base is just as sure to 
topple and then fall before temptation as any mere 
earthwork before a siege. Sumter could not have 
stood out so under the terrible guns of army and 
navy but for that deep foundation builded of granite 
and sunk in the bed of the river. The brick and 

No. 11 1 * 



6 A CHANGE OF BASE. 

mortar and cotton of the superstructure alone could 
not avail. You may think the difficulty is in some 
lesser thing, — that you can save yourself some 
easier way. Your many defeats ought to tell you 
better, and that, behind all, your great trouble is 
your hose. 

What 13 the remedy ? A change of base. Life 
can have no success, no glory, no honor, no worthy 
immortality otherwise. The great fight you are to 
fight will otherwise be shameful demoralization and 
defeat. Everything is going wrong with you from 
that old base, and cannot be made to go right, and 
you know it. You may bring up supplies, you may 
patch up your field-works, you may hold on a little 
at this pit, at that ravine, you may keep off great 
moral disaster, you may escape ruin, but the most 
you can do is to stand still in that old, unsatisfactory 
life, ever exposed, ever in danger. The batteries 
of the foe command you. From your present 
stand-point you can rise to nothing higher or better 
than you now are. You can never be victor, you 
can never hear the plaudit of angels, the well done 
of God. You can only be one of that host innu- 
merable, which, with banners trailing, crestfallen, 
ashamed, march through the streets of the City of 
God toward their doom, while angels and all good 
avert their faces and keep their peace. It is the 
law that the con-upt tree shall yield the corrupt 
fruit. As a man is in his heart, so is he. Out of 
the heart are the issues of Ufe. 



A CHANGE OF BASE. 7 

A cliange of heart is, then, what you want, — a 
thorough change in motive, principle, desire, affec- 
tion, conduct, — an entirely new base for the opera- 
tions of life. You want to put off the old man and 
put on the new man. You need, like Nicodemus, 
<o be born again. Every man does, who has not his 
heart and life subject to the highest laws, who does 
not make it his first work to seek the kingdom of 
God and its righteousness. You must utterly aban- 
don the old base. Everything about it must be 
given up. It will not do to keep any one element 
of it. If you do, it will prove an element of disas- 
ter. Many men have ruined themselves so. They 
have made a change, but not a thorough one. They 
have kept and clung to some one old, darling sin, 
and it has been a plague-spot, festering and spread- 
ing, and taking the strength and marring the sym- 
metry, preventing a healthy and perfect growth. 
When the prodigal came to himself, and felt that he 
must make his way back to his father's house, he 
did not say, " These husks have been my food, my 
life, I will still keep them"; but he left every- 
thing of his old, sinful life behind him. Nothing 
of it cleaved to him as he made his way back. His 
was a thorough change of base. The thoroughness 
saved him. It brought him home. It gave him his 
Father's welcome. Suppose, when it had been dem- 
onstrated that the Peninsula was no longer tenable 
as an army base, the commander had said : " There 



8 A CHANGE OF BASE. 

are some good points here. There are decided mil- 
itary advantages in this river, that hill. Here are 
some fine works of mine. My men have done nobly 
here. I will withdraw from some parts, but I will 
hold these. I must change my base ; but it is not 
worth while to be ultra, I will only partly change it " ; 
— would not such a course have been fatally disas- 
trous, and the army that lived to write the name of 
Antietam and Gettysburg on the record of national 
immortality have miserably wasted and perished ? 
It was the utterness of the change that saved it, and 
gave it spirit for new deeds. It is the utterness of 
the change that will alone save man, and make him 
capable of the best things. 

How is this change to be made ? By a surren- 
der of the whole man to the principles and laws 
which ruled in the Hfe of Christ. " Other founda- 
tion can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus 
the Christ." Not by any outside, mysterious press- 
ure does such a change come, but by a man's own 
effort and fidelity, winning to itself the help and 
blessing of God. To the prodigal came the con- 
viction that he was all wrong, that he must change. 
Only his inner want suggested the necessity of 
change, — not a here and there change, but a change 
of base, total, radical. Of himself he arose from 
his degradation, turned his back upon his riotous 
living, the harlots and the husks, and toiled toward 
his home. While he was a great way off his Fa- 



A CHANGE OP BASE. 9 

ther saw him and ran to liim. It is just so with us. 
While we are a great way off God comes to our 
help, and the work that is begun alone is finished 
by both. Change your base, commence your new 
operations from it, show that you are sincere, deter- 
mined to persevere and to win. You will not long 
work alone. God not only gives his blessing, but 
lends his help. 

There is one advantage a Christian has over a 
soldier, — he can carry his base with him. It is 
told of the rebel General Lee, that, when remon- 
strated with for crossing into Maryland, so far from 
his base, he replied, " I shall take my base with me" 
There is the true ring to that. It is not the word 
of a braggart, or a desperate gambler, but the word 
of one who had measured and had faith in himself; 
and though I am glad that he failed, I shall always 
think the better of him for his reply. That is just 
what every Christian can do securely. Indeed, he 
is not secure unless he can. His base must be with 
him. He must at every moment have that sure 
power in himself by which he can act, through 
which he can conquer. As in his trade, or profes- 
sion, or business, the man carries his base with him, 
— has not to stop and run back to principles and 
rules, to books and laws, but carries a well-digested 
result always, that he can refer to and rely on at 
the moment, — so must the man in his higher duty 
and life. It will not do to run back to your Bible, 



10 A CHANGE OF BASE. 

to your sect, to opinions of the Church and ihe 
world, to your minister, to your chaplain, at every 
demand of duty or pressure of temptatffP It will 
not do to wait till you can bring up your supplies 
from them. You jeopard everything so. But you 
must have with you, in you, strong, reliable, per- 
sistent, always awake, a conviction, a purpose, a 
faith, which you can depend on, for which no emer- 
gency is too much. So you are secure ; so only are 
you secure. 

Now is the time to make this change. If you 
are a good soldier, you will not put it oflf a day. 
None as a good soldier knows the necessity of 
promptness. No good soldier ever puts upon to- 
morrow what to-day should do. Accept to-day as 
the appointed time, and it shall bring you salvation. 
Victory will be yours and the life immortal. 

" The present moment flies, 
And bears our life away ! 
Lord, make thy servants tmly wise, 
That they may live to-day." 



Army Series.] [No. 12. 



ON PICKET. 



BY 



JOHN F. W. WARE 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

18 6a. 



ON PICKET. 



" Just in from picket," was the cheery salutation, 
as I stood in a company street of one of our regi- 
ments of the Army of the Potomac. And the weary 
soldier threw aside his overcoat, placed his gun in 
its rack, and came and sat with me, and talked of 
that one place the soldier never forgets, never is 
weary of thinking or speaking of, — home. 

Out upon picket, at the exposed front, on solitary 
watch, under momentary peril, how constant, how 
soothing the thought of home! If it sometimes 
make one sad, it oftener ennobles the man, deepens 
his affections, enlightens him as to his duties there, 
and quickens and strengthens a resolve to make 
that home a more blessed place when God permits 
him to come to it again. It happened that some 
years ago I put together a little book especially for 
the sick, and when the war broke out sent the few 
remaining copies to be used in the hospitals. At 
that terrible battle of Chancellorsville, one of those 
noble men whose devotion has so ennobled our 
struggle fell while leading his men to the assault 



4 ON PICKET. 

Shortly after there came into my hands one of those 
very hooks I had sent out, with his name in it, all 
worn and soiled by exposure and use, and on the 
fly-leaf of it a pencilled letter to his wife, in which 
he spoke of it as his constant companion when he 
was away on picket duty, as he then was, and of 
the longing he always had, when he read things in 
it that pleased him, that he could read them aloud 
to her in his own home. Surely, those long, lonely, 
perilous hours, those dreary watches of the night, 
can have none so blessed relief and ministering as 
thoughts of home ; and he is the wise man, and will 
be the truer soldier, who makes use of them to 
cement more closely the union of hearts which 
time and absence and circumstance should only 
draw closer and closer. 

But picket hfe does not allow of continued, quiet 
thought. It is a time of excitement, activity, vigi- 
lance. It is near the foe, and it may be near to 
doath. It is at a distance from relief. It requires 
individual energy, prudence, sagacity, courage, de- 
c^^;ion. Not only personal safety and life are at 
stake, but the safety of the army lying behind, — 
perhaps of the cause. A single indiscretion, a 
moment's flinching, the sUghtest relaxing of dis- 
cipline or vigilance, may bring on terrible disaster. 
The commander relies upon the courage, the 
fidelity, the report of his pickets. They hold 
everything in their hands. Only the other day the 



ON PICKET. 5 

negligence of a single vidette brought about a 
mortifying reverse on the banks of the Rappahan- 
nock. 

A soldier does not need to be told of this, you 
say. And yet it will do no harm to remind him of 
it, because soldiers have forgotten this duty, — have 
slept, or been surprised at their posts. They have 
sometunes been guilty of that very thing a soldier 
never should be guilty of, — neglect of watchfulness 
in the face of the enemy. The old Romans were, 
perhaps, the best soldiers the world has seen. It 
was sure de^ith to a Roman to be found asleep at 
his post, or to be known to have left it. When the 
city of Pompeii came to be unearthed, there was 
found at the city's gate the remains of the Roman 
sentinel there. The city bad warning of its doom. 
The people fled, but no order came to him, and 
grimly, determinedly, he stayed at his post and 
died, and his mouldering frame ages afterward has 
preached solemnly and sublimely of fidelity to trust. 
That dead soldier has spoken living words. 

To guard against surprise, that is the great duty 
of the picket. It is surprise an ai-my has most 
need to dread, — a watchful, ingenious, original 
move on the part of the enemy, upsetting all old 
theories of approach or assault, coming in, as Na- 
poleon used to, just wliere and when and as he 
ought not to. If all battles were fought according 
to the books, if there were no scope for strategy, if 

No. 12 



6 ON PICKET. 

the resources of tactics were all exhausted, if all 
were known about the foe that would be known 
were he drawn up, like an old Grecian phalanx, fair 
and square in the open field, there could be no sur- 
prise, there could be no place for picket duty. But 
just the most dangerous thing to an army is the 
surprise a wary, accomplished antagonist may spring 
upon it, — not the ambush that may entrap a small 
body, but a concerted, combined movement that 
may take an exposed flank or rear, or a feebly sup* 
ported centre, — that may throw itself, resistless as 
an avalanche, as our enemy has so often done, upon 
one point, when it has seemed attacking another. 
The picket becomes the vital force in the army, — 
the central pivot on which its safety turns. His 
infidelity is its destruction. 

So it is that life's great danger is from surprises- 
There is a very large class of sins which may justly 
be called sins of sxirprise. They are the things 
we do not mean to do, do not want to do, but ai'e 
always doing. They are not the worst things per- 
haps, not so bad as the things we do deliberately, 
not in themselves very large things, separately do 
not show any great moral obliquity or do a great 
amount of harm, yet their perpetual recurrence is 
doing great mischief to character, and bringing 
mortification upon ourselves, disappointment, and 
in the end, it may be, despair. The Apostle con- 
fessed his annoyance from this class when he said, 



ON PICKET. 7 

The evil that I would not, that I do." At times 
L.S moral vigilance grew slack, and then his enemy 
was upon him. 

It is so with us all. You and I are constantly 
tripped up by some little contemptible thing, which 
watches its opportunity, and is down upon us, has 
mastered, pinioned us, and is leading us captive 
before we know it. You and I are every day 
suffering and ashamed at the facility with which 
we allow ourselves to be surprised into sayings, 
doings, feelings which in our watchful moments 
we would not allow for our lives. You and I a 
hundred times a day are oiF our guard, and do some 
unworthy deed, say some untrue thing, have some 
unholy feeling, are false to some duty, for no other 
reason, and we suffer all manner of mortification 
and self-condemnation, and then, next day, do very 
much the same things again. 

Cannot we help this ? I think so. The difficulty 
is a simple one. We are off our gtiard, and I be- 
lieve it is true in the array as it is in life, that when 
a man is negligent of his duty, he loses, in part, 
his courage. He is for the time being a coward. 
He has lost the moral support which fidelity gives. 
He is no longer quick, sharp, shrewd, self-reliant. 
He has lost a large element in all courage ; for cour- 
age is never a single thing, but has elements none 
of which you subtract but at a loss. The man off 
his guard is never reliable. The attack is unlooked 



8 ON PICKET. 

for. That disconcerts him. He cannot rally at 
once. He cannot collect his methods of defence. 
The enemy has him at a vantage. There is no 
withstanding him. You are down in the dust, 
wounded, beaten, perhaps half dead. Vigilance 
would have prevented this, — vigilance, which, like 
the eye of God, never slumbers nor sleeps. You 
remember that the Saviour lays his stress upon that 
word. Watch. It comes in again and again as the 
sum of his teaching and warning. He shows the 
disasters that will come if men will not watch, and 
I think we all feel that our great mistake, the 
source of our misery and our fear, is the wretched 
way in which we heed the Saviour's word. Even 
while the traitors draw nigh we sleep. 

There is an instance of the way in which a man 
is surprised into a sin in the history of Peter. Je- 
sus had told him that he would betray him. Peter 
had declared that he would not though he should 
die with him. We should suppose he would be on 
his guard. Probably his very assurance threw him 
ofif his guard. He felt that to be impossible, ceased 
to think about it, relaxed, gave up his watch there, 
went among the men in the court-yard, stood and 
warmed himself, perfectly at ease and self-confident, 
and when the maid spoke to him, utterly surprised, 
he denied knowing anything about his Master ; then, 
having committed himself, he began to curse and to 
swear to make his fii'st falsehood seem Uker to the 



ON PICKET. 9 

ti ath. Peter's fault was in allowing himself to be 
surprised, in being off duty. His after denials were 
only to support the first. His first was his real sin, 
and that was because his self-confidence allowed 
him to sleep when he should have waked and 
watched. Our own experience is written out for us 
in that incident. Confident in ourselves, we forget 
the demands of caution, we withdraw our guards, 
and then comes swift, sure overthrow. 

The man who maintains his watch as Christ 
maintained his cannot be surprised, cannot be over- 
thrown. There is no power or wile strong enough. 
So he foiled the tempter, and only so he kept the 
mastery over him. Tlie tempter masters us because 
we have not the Saviour's spirit. That is omnipo- 
tent ; and once it possesses us, we through it are 
also omnipotent. The very gates of hell cannot 
prevail against us. 

I think God has placed every human being on 
picket duty, tlu'own him out to the front, in the felt 
presence of his enemies, and bidden him watch. 
That is his one paramount duty, not to himself 
alone, but to others. Persistently he neglects it, 
he falls into error and sin. " I did n't think," " I 
did n't remember," " If I had only my wits about 
me," is bis exclamation and excuse. It seems to 
set the matter right with himself, while his great 
duty was to think, to have his wits about him, to 
be on guard. We are able to do everything God 



10 ON PICKET. 

has set us to do. Failure is always only man's 
infidelity. 

When "Washington dismissed his general, St. 
Clair, to the charge of an army which had again 
and again under other leaders fallen into ambush 
and been defeated, his last instruction, repeated 
with emphasis, was, — " Beware of a surprise." 
Yet with that warning ringing in his ears, the un- 
fortunate general was surprised and more terribly 
beaten than any who had gone before. Washing- 
ton well knew the country and the enemy against 
which his general marched. In the open field, 
from a visible foe, he had little to fear. It was 
against the surprise he needed to guard. And so 
we march through a country in which our virtue 
has little to fear so long as we are in the open 
fields, so long as we can see our enemy, so long as 
he marshals and arrays his forces in front. It 
is the ambush, the surprise, of which we need to 
beware, — the secret, sudden onslaught, not the 
attack that shows itself and threatens and acts delib- 
erately and opens at long range, but the attack that 
springs upon us, that makes no noise, with a Zouave 
dash takes us on the run and uses the bayonet. 
This attack we are to fear, watch against ; but even 
this is not invincible. Eternal vigilance is said to 
be the price of liberty. It is the price of immunity 
from any, every sin. Pay it, and no sin can van- 
quish you, no surprise disturb. 



ON PICKET. 11 

" My soul, be on thy guard ; 

Ten thousand foes arise ; 
The hosts of sin are pressing hard, 
To di-aw thee from the skies. 

" watch and strive and pray 1 

The battle ne'er give o'er; 
Renew it boldly day by day, 

And help Divine implore. 

" Ne'er think the victory won, 

Nor lay thine armor down : 
Thy arduous work will not be dona 

Till thou obtain thv crown." 



Army Series.] [No. 13. 



THE REBEL. 



BT 



JOHN F. W. WARE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1863. 



THE REBEL. 



We call them rebels. And so they are. But so 
are we. 

What is a rebel ? One who unlawfully, without 
adequate cause, sets himself against a government 
established over him and acknowledged as the su- 
preme authority. To rebel is to set your will 
against the will of the law or the ruler of the land. 
It places you outside the sympathy, the protection, 
of such, renders you liable to the heaviest penal- 
ties, the forfeit of your substance and your life. It 
makes you an outlaw, it puts a mark upon you, and 
sets every man's hand against you. To rebel against 
a bad government, for the conservation of what is 
right and true and legal, is to win at last your end 
and the approval of all good ; to rebel against a 
good government, for the overthrow of law and 
order, virtue and truth, the grand elementary prin- 
ciples upon which human right and liberty stand, is 
the highest form of crime, and can only be approved 
of despots, or of those restless, irresponsible men all 
whose hope lies in anarchy and confusion. 



4 THE REBEL. 

The rebels of this country have set themselves 
against the best form of government on the globe, 
the one based on the fairest principles and aiming 
most earnestly for the greatest good of the greatest 
number. I do not say the government is perfect. 
It might be and it will be changed for the better 
somewhat. I do not say it is or has been in all 
respects wisely administered. I cannot shut my 
eyes to fraud, rapine, wrong in high places, not 
merely under the shadow, but under the sanction of 
our venerated Constitution. " When this cruel war 
is over," we hope that these things will have passed. 

The government is the best, the fairest, the freest, 
with all its faults, in itself and in its administration. 
And yet some millions have rebelled against and 
bitterly hate it, are sacrificing everything to over- 
throw it, and declare that they will resist to the 
" bitter end." And if they hold out, the end will be 
very bitter. 

Very wrong in these people, — very short-sighted, 
very ungrateful. Just see what they enjoyed under 
the old rule ! Just see what havoc and woe they 
have brought on themselves ! Just see what sorrow 
and sacrifice to us, — what confusion among the 
nations! Probably no nation and no great activity 
of the globe but feels the palsying of this great 
and fiendish struggle against "the best government." 
What ingrates, what traitors, what villains, — wox'thy 
of the deepest hell ! 



THE REBEL. 5 

But hold ! " Thou art inexcusable, O man, who- 
soever thou art that judgest ; for wherein thou 
judgest another thou condemnest thyself; for thou 
that judgest doest the same things." Rebels against 
the best government, are they ? What are we, — 
you and I ? 

Surely, God's government is best, and there is 
no failure in its administration, for he keeps all 
things in his own hand, and he is wise and good. 
He has made a beautiful world and put us in it, to 
use what we find in it for our advancement and 
happiness. He has made us capable of deep and 
rich affections, and given us those to whom these 
affections cling. He has given us great ambitions, 
desires, plans, cravings for material success and 
advancement, and intellectual culture and growth. 
He has given us dominion not only over the fowls 
of the air and every creeping thing, but over the 
elements long untamed, so that fire and air and 
water are not only man's most useful but most sub- 
missive servants. He has opened his secrets, stored 
from eternity in the deeps of the ocean, in the bowels 
of the earth, in the abysses of the heaven, one by 
one, to man's importunate search. He has made 
the earth's surface teem with plenty, and the race 
constantly to advance in prosperity and civilization. 
And to leave nothing undone, lest man should think 
he was alone and first, and so become a law unto 
himself, or might fear that he was alone, and grope 

No. 13 1* 



6 THE REBEL. 

feebly after some support, He has revealed himself 
and perfected the knowledge of his will, by sending 
his only Son to us, and letting that Son suffer and 
die for our good. That is God as be is to man. 
That is what God has done for man. Under such 
a rule and such a ruler we live and move and have 
our being. 

And we have rebelled! That is the return we 
have made the good God. Just what the children 
of the Hebrews did in the wilderness when they made 
the golden calf, just what the Jews did all through 
their troublous history, just that have we done who 
have had the greater enlightenment of the truth as 
it is in Jesus. We are rebels against the Divine 
authority. "We have set up another will to rule 
over us than his. We serve another law. We 
have, in act, declared we will not have him to rule 
over us. We are in conscious, willing, wilful oppo- 
sition to him, giving our allegiance and our love 
elsewhere, — not helping God carry out his plans, 
but doing all we can to check them. 

And this just as much, just as truly, just as fa- 
tally, as if we had passed a formal decree of sepa- 
ration. It does not affect the fact, that you and I 
still profess allegiance, if we are all the time doing 
that which shows we have none. To-day there are 
those loud in their professions of loyalty to the Con- 
stitution and the country, but they are rebel at 
heart Rebel at heart is every man who does not 



THE REBEL. 7 

give himself, in the love of a child, to the service of 
God. Rebel at heart is every man whose word 
and life show that there is any law with him other, 
higher than God's law. How many of us are there 
who, taking the loyalty of Jesus as the standard, 
can say that we are loyal too, loving God with all 
our strength and all our mind ? 

Now, we propose to subjugate those in arms 
against their country. It is a word a great deal of 
fault is found with, but it is the thing we mean to 
do. That is, as the word signifies, we mean to 
bring them under the yoke, the mild and easy yoke 
of the "best government in the world." That we 
shall do, or we shall do nothing. That is the con- 
dition of peace. To that end the marching of ar- 
mies, the thunders of fleets, the building of moni- 
tors, the forging of monster cannon, the ceaseless 
activity, the vigilant energy of rulers and leaders, 
the patriotism and sacrifices of the people. 

God proposes to subjugate his rebels, — to bring 
them under the mild and easy yoke of his best gov- 
ernment. He means to break this self-sufl!lcient 
pride, this trust in the things made, this distrust of 
the unseen. But his way is not our way. It is not 
with terrible engineries, with sweeping destruction, 
with famine, disease, and pain. It is not with venge- 
ful purpose, with passion, with outraged dignity. 
He waited and tried men long, and then sent his 
Son. with not even a bitter message, but with the 



8 THE REBEL. 

tenderest assurances of love, only asking of man 
love again. Still he waits and tries us. He fills 
our days with blessings. Our cups run over. He 
strives to win us. Beauty, plenty, joy, and glad- 
ness troop about us and crown our lives, while the 
very severities, the experiences, the disciplines, how 
bitter soever at the time, leave enduring sweetness 
with those who take them as from an Infinite love. 
They all, — joy and sorrow, success and reverse, 
exemption and discipline, — are God's efforts at 
subjugating us, bringing us under his yoke, break- 
ing our rebellious spirit, and leading us back to 
our allegiance. 

Are you going to resist to " the bitter end " ? Is 
that your plan? Is that your madness? What 
will you gain ? God is the great powder, and if you 
uo not now yield to him, there is a by and by in 
"which you shall know your folly, where the worm 
does not die and the fire is not quenched. You do 
not mean to be so obdurate. You mean before you 
die to come back to him. Though you do not live 
loyally, you will die loyal. Do not count on that. 
Lay down your arms to-day. Give up all rebellious 
thought and conduct. Renew your allegiance. Come 
under the yoke, and find its ease, and know, while 
you are well and strong, before the evil days come, 
the great, abiding peace which belongs in undis- 
turbed possession to that man whose every way is 
ordered and every desire determined by his fidelity 
to God 



THE REBEL. 

" Unworthy to be called thy son, 
I come with shame to Thee : 
Father, more than Father, thou 
Hast always been to me 1 

" Help me to break the heavy chains 
The world has round me thrown, 
And know the glorious liberty 
Of an obedient son. 

" That I may henceforth heed whate'er 
Thy voice within me saith, 
Fix deeply in my heart of hearts 
A principle of faith, — 

** Faith that, like armor to my soul, 
Shall keep aU evil out. 
More mighty than an angel host 
Encamping round about." 



Army Series.] 



[No. 14. 



TO THE COLOR. 



BY 



JOHN F. W. WARE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

18 60. 



TO THE COLOR. 



The soldier's pride is his country's flag. There 
IS a magnetic, mysterious power in that to touch 
and rouse him which nothing else has. It nerves 
him to the loftiest deeds, and his own death is better 
than its disgrace. 

What is a flag ? It is a piece of cloth or silk 
painted or woven with some device. In itself it 
is only that, — a painted cloth. But, soldiers, you 
never think of that. You would spurn him who 
should stand before you and say that of your Jlag, 
and ridicule you for your devotion to it. 

And it is something more than a piece of cloth. 
The moment that it wears the device, the emblem, 
chosen as your country's symbol, it is forever an- 
other thing. Wherever the eye sees it, it blesses 
it, and whenever the need shall be, the man will die 
for it. 

It ha? always been so with all people. One of 
the first things in national existence has been the 
selection of some symbol which should star.d as the 
type of the country, which should concentrate the 



4 TO THE COLOR. 

affection and devotion of the people, and be recog 
nized and respected as the nation itself. The Roman 
had the eagle, the Mussulman the crescent, France 
the Jleur-de-lis, England the red cross, America the 
stars and stripes. Wherever these ai-e seen, they 
are recognized as the nation. They are not only 
the sign of its presence, but the token of its power. 
They are saluted as the crowned head would be, 
and to insult them is to insult the dignity, the 
supremacy, of the ruler or people themselves. Rend 
or trample or pull down a national flag, and it sets 
every nerve to quivering, eveiy heart and bram on 
fixe, and rouses every man to resent an injury that 
is more than personaL You surely have not for- 
gotten how it was when die flag on Fort Sumter 
feU! 

The flag is the centre about which your line of 
battle rallies. Upon it your battalions form. When 
it advances, and " To the color ! " is beat, you know 
that in order of company you are to tjike your place 
at its side. In the battle it is as your guiding star. 
Where it goes, you go. While it waves aloft, it 
cheers and animates you ; when it wavers, you know 
the hour for prompt and desperate energy is come. 
When it falls, then men die, and count their own 
lives nothing If they may save it. There are no 
deeds of high daring and self-sacrifice hke those 
around an imperilled flag. The rally cry for it is 
tlie shout that makes a giant and a hero of each, 



TO THE COLOR. 6 

and where it has not become wholly impossible, it 
restores the desperate fortunes of the day. It is said 
that Sir Charles Napier, in his war in the Scinde, 
found himseh' in the presence of a horde of native 
robbers who had been unsubdued for six hundred 
years. " They dwelt in a crater-hke valley, surround- 
ed by mountains, thi-ough which there were but two 
or three narrow entrances, and up which there was no 
access but by goat-paths, so precipitous that brave 
men grew dizzy and could not proceed." It was 
necessary to dislodge them, but the service Mas too 
hazardous, and volunteers were called for. One 
hundred men sprang to the front. They were of a 
native Bengal regiment which had lately been dis- 
graced for mutiny, and their colors taken from them. 
Soldiers, you know what such disgrace must bel 
The commander knew how to touch their hearts. 
" Soldiers of the Sixty-fourth ! your colors are on the 
top of yonder hiU!" What were precipices and 
dangers and deaths to them as they swept toward 
the crest and won there the coveted prize? — At 
that terrible assault on Wagner, where a raw black 
regiment was put at the front, and received its bap- 
tism of fire and of glory, the regimental flag as it 
feU from the hands of its bearer was caught by a 
comrade, and by him carried through all that fear- 
ful night. The next day, as he was brought in, 
bleeding, to the hospital, the flag still grasped in his 
feeble hand, every soldier white or black, lifted 
No. 14. 



6 TO THE COLOR. 

himself from his bed, and cheer upon cheer saluted 
him. "Boys," said he, "I have only done my duty, 
but the dear old Jlag never touched the ground! " I 
do not ask the color of that man. He was a hero. 
His deed, his words, are among the immortal things 
of the war. And what a power there must be in a 
flag, when it wakes such sentiment, such devotion, 
in one of a despised, inferior race, who may, pos- 
sibly, have been beneath its folds — a slave ! 

But, soldiers, glorious as all this devotion to the 
flag, ennobling as it is, there is another symbol that 
ought to be dearer to us, and call out even more of 
the spirit of reverence and self-sacrifice. The flag 
symbolizes your country, and all that is dear and 
hopeful in it. But the cross symbohzes the Chris- 
tian faith, and it ought to inspii-e with a deeper love 
and hope. You owe it your first allegiance. You 
were called to be soldiers of it, before you were 
called to defend the flag. Your service to the one 
ends with the present peril. You return to your 
homes, to your old duties. You are soldiers, de- 
fenders of the flag, only for the occasion. Your 
service to the other is never done. It is not to- 
day's work, or to-mon-ow's work, but life's work. 
It is a warfare from which there is no release but 
death. Just as much as the Apostle said he was, is 
each one of you, " set for the defence of the Gos- 
pel." There is something you can do and you 
ought to do for the cross, for the flag of the Chris 



TO THE COLOR. / 

tian failh. It ought to fill you with an ardent love, 
it ought to inflame you with unfailing zeal, its inter- 
ests, its success, its defence, ought to be every man's 
first thought and purpose. For we owe everything 
to the cross. If the flag of our country condenses 
and expresses all that our country is to us, has done 
for us, so the cross condenses and expresses all that 
the life, the words, the love of Jesus have done for 
us ; and they have done everything. They changed 
the face, the power of the old ; under them every- 
thing is become new. 

Are you a loyal soldier of the cross ? Do you 
love it and proclaim your love by the purity of your 
life? Do you defend it when bad men attack it 
with their lips or scorn it by their deeds ? Do you 
rally about it in its dangers ? Are you ready to die 
for it rather than see it trampled on and desecrated ? 
Have you the spirit of Paul, who gloried in it and 
counted it his great joy and honor to die for it? 
Have you the love of martyrs who, in dungeons, at 
stakes, upon scaffolds, under persecutions and oblo- 
quy, have sufiered for it ? Would you to-day offer 
yourself to a forlorn hope for its rescue with the 
same calm, determined resolve you would mount 
" the imminent deadly breach " for the honor of your 
flag? K you knew it were in deadly peril, would 
you give your all for it ? I have seen the enthusi- 
asm with which you have received your colors as 
you left home, and went out, consecrated, to battle. 



8 TO THE COLOR. 

I have felt your resolve within myself, as the 
hallowed ensign fluttered in the breeze, and lifted 
up all eyes and nerved all hearts. Should some 
one advance to-day and lift the cross above your 
serried ranks, and intrust it to your keeping, would 
it receive such homage, rouse such resolve? I 
know what music does in camp and field. I have 
marked men when some patriotic strain fell on 
their weariness or depression. The faltering ranks 
have been re-strung to power and valor as the 
" Star-Spangled Banner" or " Rally round the 
Flag, Boys ! " has caught their ear, and the music 
has given them the victory. Were some one to 
chant to you to-day sweet songs about the cross, 
of him who died upon it, of the Father he re- 
vealed, and the new life he laid before us, should 
you become all glowing with new desire, and spring 
into the great conflict with sin and self, so armed, 
so shielded, so resolved, that the crown of the vic- 
tor would be yours ? These are questions to test 
yourself by, to gauge your loyalty with ; and if it 
be that you love your flag, your country, better 
than the cross, your Saviour, — if your loyalty to it 
stand before your loyalty to God, — no matter how 
true and faithful your service to the one, have you 
not failed, are you not recreant in that first duty 
and loyalty which is owed the other? 

Rally round the cross, boys ! It is in peril. This 
nominal allegiance is more harmful to it than open 



TO THE COLOR. 9 

treachery. Decent men as much as bad men in- 
jure it. Every wrong life, every wrong act, every 
low passion, every evil habit, every selfishness, is an 
injury to it. You can do something to help it. 
Show amid the temptations of the camp that you 
own allegiance to the principles of the Gospel, re- 
sist all evil, do every duty, neglect not prayer, feel 
the presence of, submit yourselves to, the law of 
God; mark this period of your life, so grand in 
its opportunity for aU good, by the solemnity and 
entireness of your devotion to the cross, the sym- 
bol, the standard of faith ; become a good soldier 
of the cross, let men see that nothing can lure you 
from the love and service of it, and it will not only 
be lifted up, you will not only be safe, but others 
will be made better, and there wiE be joy in heaven. 
That fidelity you give your country, give your God. 
Before the flag plant the cross, and in that conquer. 

" In the cross of Christ I glory, 

Towering o'er the wrecks of time ; 
All the light, of sacred story 
Gathers rotmd its head sublime. 

" Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure, 
By the cross are sanctified ; 
Peace is there that knows no measure, 
Joys that through all time abide." 



10 TO THE COLOR. 



" Hark ! 't is a martial SDtfiid 1 
To arms ! ye saints, to arms ! 
Your foes are gathering round, 
And peace has lost its charms: 

Prepare the helmet, sword, and shield; 

The trumpet calls you to the field 1 

" No common foes appear 

To dare you to the fight, 

But such as own no fear, 

And glory in their might : 
The powers of darkness are at hand ; 
Resist, or bow to their command I 

" An arm of flesh must fail 

In such a strife as this ; 

He only can prevail 

Whose arm immortal is : 
'T is Heaven itself the strength mui yield. 
And weapons fit for such a field. 

" And Heaven supplies them tot»j 
The Lord, who never faints, 
Is greater than the foe, 
And He is with his saints: 

Thus armed, they venture to the fight; 

Thus armed, they put their foes to flight. 

* And when the conflict 's past. 

On yonder peaceful shore 

They shall repose at last, 

And see their foes no more : 
The fruits of victory enjoy, 
And nevermore their arms employ." 



Army Series.] [No. 15. 

THE RECRUIT. 



BT 



JOHN F. W. WARE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1864. 



THE EECEUIT. 



You have not forgotten the time when you were 
a recruit, a raw recruit. You did not become one 
without a struggle. There was much to be gone 
through, much to be thought of. To draw the hue 
between the demands upon you, to strike the bal- 
ance, was no easy thing. On the one side was in- 
clination, on the other was duty, perhaps a conflict 
of duties. Home, its pursuits and affections, bade 
you stay ; your country, her perils and honor, bade 
you go. There were the hopes and plans of a lifetime 
to be set aside ; parents and wives and children to 
be thought of, provided for ; everything you loved to 
be left. Behind were the prizes of the heart ; be- 
fore, every uncertainty, privation, suffering, possibly 
death. You have not forgotten the fearful strufrgle> 
nor the hour when, at last, your mind made up, you 
turned your back on home, forsook your place and 
duties as a citizen, and in a strange garb offered 
yourself to your strange vocation. Did you ever 
experience a sensation like that when you first real- 
ized that you were a recruit ? 



4 THE RECRUIT. 

What a mystery seemed to you then the intricacy 
of mihtary movements. Should you ever become 
a soldier ? Would any amount of drill make easy, 
familiar, natural, the things you tried to do with 
such difficulty and conscious awkwardness ? What 
a marvel to you of the " awkward squad " was the 
dress parade, the manual, the movements by com- 
pany and by battalion ! Should you ever get your 
" facings," manage that " right-about," that " load in 
nine times," ever remember to keep that " left foot " 
always to the front ? Do you not smile sometimes 
as you look back at those first efforts, and wonder 
that you should ever have been so perplexed about 
that which has become as a second nature, now that 
you feel, as a young friend told me he did, as if you 
had never been anything but a soldier ? 

You have given yourself as a recruit in one ser- 
vice : I want you now as a recruit in another. It is 
a better service, its rewards are greater and more 
sure, its victories are more complete, and the peace 
that follows can 'never be broken. 

A better service ! How can that be ? I have 
entered the service of my country. I have given 
my all to her. I am pledged to stand by her even 
with my life. And my country! to the world, to 
me, she is the type of freedom. In her earliest days 
she proclaimed the great gospel of liberty. It is 
that which we of the army to-day proclaim anew, — 
that which we will establish once and forever, or we 
will die. Can I be in a better service ? 



THE RECRUIT. 5 

Yours is indeed a noble service, but I ask you to 
enter a nobler. You have done well so far. I would 
ask you to do better. You have sacrificed much. I 
would ask you to sacrifice more. There is a ser- 
i'ice, — you know what one I mean, — and it wants 
recruits. Shall it not have you for one ? 

I know it is not an easy thing to be a soldier of the 
cross. I know that a great many men are deterred 
from enlisting under it by the difficulties which meet 
them at once, by demands so unlike those they meet 
in life, by duties so much more exacting, and bur- 
dens so much more heavy. Wlien men are asked to 
become religious, they almost always draw back. It 
seems too difficult. How shall they ever get those 
things, — faith, a habit of prayer, resignation to 
another will, a love for God, for Christ, a hope, a 
desire, for heaven ? Perhaps it is so with you. You 
hear men talk about certain beliefs, about certain 
results, about pleasure in certain exercises and du- 
ties, and you see, too, that they do not merely talk, 
but have in themselves, very prominent and strong, 
certain things you know nothing about. You would 
like to, but how are you ever to do it ? How shall 
you begin ? When you have begun, how are you 
to be at ease in such new work and society? 

Have you forgotten your experience as a recruit? 
While you merely looked on, it seemed impossible 
for you to master the intricacies of manual and evo- 
lution, but the moment you were in the ranks, 

No. 15. 1 * 



6 THE RECRUIT. 

heartily at work on the problem, its solution began 
to come, and you were amazed to find yourself with 
such ease and rapidity advancing " in the school of 
the soldier." 

The recruit in this better service will have a like 
experience. Stand outside, merely look on, and 
nothing is more impossible, unreal. Enlist, set your- 
self at work heartily to learn. I do not say that the 
things of a holy life — experiences, powers, peace, 
which are the privileges of the mature Christian — 
shall at once be yours; but this, that the light 
begins to dawn, it fringes the horizon of your en- 
deavor, and perseverance will bring about and estab- 
lish the noon of unclouded attainment. The recruit 
will grow to the veteran. Do not say that you do not 
get ahead. Do not get discouraged. Do not throw 
down your arms. You have labored days at the 
manual, weeks at the bayonet-drill. You had to 
keep at it. You gained very slowly. Little by 
little, through patience, experience, discipline, you 
have got this facility of handling your arms and 
yourself. By these you have become a soldier of 
your country, and by the same things are you to 
become a soldier of the cross. 

And what are the things necessary to the soldier 
of the cross, which to the recruit seem so hard to 
attain ? 

1. Faith. That is the first thing. The Saviour 
always asked for it first. If the man had it, then he 



THE RECRUIT. 7 

went on to do the miracle, then he told him he was 
forgiven, then he assured him he was not far from 
the kingdom. He did not expect of him at once 
that complete faith which only a long experience 
gives ; but a belief in what he told him, and a pur- 
pose to do as he commanded. A thorough faith 
would in time grow out of that. 

Now it is a very simple thing, and not so very 
difficult, to have faith. Men have been made to 
think that it was some great mystery, and they must 
go through certain processes befoi*e they could have 
it. They were not to get it in any natural way, but 
by some strange, unusual methods. It was some- 
thing to be sent you, not something you were to get 
yourself But faith is a thing you have been having 
ever since you were born. You had it before you 
knew it, so soon as your mother's smile showed you 
that she was your dearest friend. You had it all 
the way through your childhood, in your parents, in 
your teachers, in your elders. Every day of life, 
in all your intercourse with men, you have been 
obliged to exercise it. You have it to-day in your 
commandei', in your cause. It lies at the bottom of 
all your doing in life, only you have not exercised it 
toward the great Unseen Being. All you want is 
to lift up the same feeling till it can lay hold upon 
God. You want to have the same trust, confidence, 
in Him that you had in your mother, that you have 
in man, only it needs to be without drawback, and 



8 THE RECRUn'. 

multiplied by infinity. Even mothers with their 
dear love mistake, and men of noblest purpose some- 
times fail, but there is neither failure nor mistake 
with God. 

That is what you want to do at first, — to say 
Yiih all your heart, " Lord, I believe, help thou 
Jiine unbelief," that is, take every weakness out 
of my faith, and make it strong and complete. 
Then, when this is obtained, it wiU begin to work. 
You will find yourself gradually getting new light, 
new strength, new desires, dropping the habits and 
wishes of the old life, and putting on what the 
Apostle calls " the new man." Life after the Mas- 
ter grows from this as the fruit from the seed, and 
it obeys the same law, — first the blade, then the ea*/ 
then the full corn in the ear. 

2. It is just so about prayer. Men shrink froDL 
it, do not know how to take hold of it, because they 
think it something one side, beyond all their expe- 
rience. But it is not so. They have been asking 
all their lives, and asking because they wanted, and 
expected to obtain by the asking. It is doing to 
God just what you used to do every day at home 
to your father and mother. Prayer is simply ask- 
ing God what you want, with the conviction that he 
will give it to you if it is best for you. That is just 
the spirit in which you asked at home. It is the 
simplest, easiest thing in the world. Many think 
they cannot pray unless they use precise and formal 



THE RECRUIT. 9 

language, unless they are on their knees, or by 
themselves, or in a church, unless they use certain 
forms, and a certain length. It is not so. Did you 
ever repeat to your mother that httle verse which 
John Quincy Adams repeated every night through 
his long life, — 

" Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep " ? 

Do you remember the Lord's Prayer ? These two 
have probably been repeated more times than any 
other prayers. Every day God hears them from 
almost myriad lips, and blesses as he hears. These 
are not long or formal. No prayer that the Saviour 
offered was. What prayer could say more, or show 
a deeper love for man or confidence in God than 
his last, — " Father, forgive them ; they know not 
what they do " ? The Prodigal's prayer, — " Father, 
I have sinned, and am no more worthy to be called thy 
son"; the Publican's, — " God be merciful to me a 
sinner," — prove how unUke the formal prayers men 
deem it necessary to make are the effectual, fervent 
prayers that avail. All you need is to have a 
want, to feel that God can help you, to ask him, in 
the shortest, simplest way, anywhere, at any time. 
When you become an older Christian, prayer will 
become something more, lead you further, Hft you 
higher, than it can now. You know that is the law 
with everything. Aim fii'st at simple, brief peti- 
tions. Ask, nothing doubting. That is prayer. 



10 THE RECRUIT. 

" Prayer is the simplest form of speech 
That infant lips can try; 
Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach 
The Majesty on high." 

3. I suppose it will specially trouble you to do 
right, to turn away from old follies and habits and 
sins, and lead such a life as you know you ought to, 
as you know God requires. Well, that is a pretty 
hard thing to do, but not half so hard as you think, 
if you will only be in right down earnest about it. 
Earnestness is half a battle. The determination to 
conquer is half the victory, and if it be true, as the 
proverb says, " It is the tlrst step which costs," then 
the other half is the easier. 

I think I have one piece of advice which may 
possibly help you. Don't undertake too much at 
once. Don't expect to overcome all the wrong in 
you at a dash. Understand that it is going to be a 
long work with you, — a life-long work, — and begin 
deliberately and to go on resolutely. Do as you would 
in a siege. Make your approaches, establish your 
parallels, start your sap, trust in little steady gains, 
rather than in assaults. I should say that the 
best thing you could do would be to form a general 
resolve to quit all old wrong ways, and grow into 
all good ones, and then pay special attention to 
some one at a time. Get it thoroughly out of the 
way and then go to the next. For instance, if you 
are a profane man, take hold of swearing first. 
"Watch yourself in every other du-ection, but let 



THE RECRXTIT. 11 

your first, special attention be given here till the 
habit is gone. So you will see some gain. You 
know it is better to concentrate your fire than to 
scatter it. If a man once sees a habit fairly down, 
something definite done, he takes courage. He 
finds out what he can do, and presses on to further 
victories, while a general purpose of reform, or an 
equal attack on all his sins at once, will show, and 
probably make little real gain. 

This is the way in which I would advise you to 
begin, no more expecting to be an accomplished 
Christian at once than the recruit expects to be an 
accomplished soldier at once. Gradually, and 
through patient effort, the better life will grow upon 
you, and these things which, seem now so strange, so 
difiicult, will become easy and familiar. 

There is one grand help to this. When you first 
enlisted I dare say you bought a manual — Casey, 
perhaps — and set yourself down to make yourself 
a soldier by studying that. What a hopeless task 
that was ! You could hardly do the simplest thing 
by it. But after you got into the ranks, and had 
some little experience, you went back to your 
Casey, and it was a new book and a great help. 
The Christian recruit will find a similar experience. 
If he sits down with his Bible, and expects to study 
himself into a Christian, he will grow gray and 
make no advance. The Saviour teaches better. He 
says, " If any will do his will, he shall know of the 



12 THE RECRUIT. 

doctrine " ; that is, let a man set to work to do what 
is right, and that very effort will explain to him his 
duties, — not doctrines, the tenets of a creed, but 
the things to be taught him, the great demands of 
life. Every man finds it so, — that doing strangely 
explains and simplifies the Divine Word, and that 
he can go to it from his own experiences, however 
crude, and find that a very lamp to his feet which, 
prior to his experience, had been only darkness. So 
do not expect reading your Bible to make you a 
Christian ; do not expect merely your own efforts to 
make you a Christian ; but work and read, work and 
pray. Let the book help your effort, let the effort 
help the book, and you will find these two working 
in harmony, each supplementing the other, together 
making that power which shall ransom you from the 
thrall of evil, and elevate you into the coveted, holy 
life. 

Have, then, no despair. Have patience ; toil, 
wait. The soul that is but a recruit to-day shall 
receive reward as the conquering veteran hereafter. 



Army Series.] [No. 16. 

A FEW WORDS WITH THE 
CONVALESCENT. 



BY 



JOHN F. W. WARE, 



BOSTON: 

AMEEICAN UNITAKIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1864. 



A FEW WORDS WITH THE 
CONVALESCENT. 



Sick Friends and Dear Friends: — 

I have a long time wanted a quiet talk with you, 
for I cannot help thinking much and often of those 
quiet, brave, and patient men I have so many times 
seen in the hospitals, — suffering not only from dis- 
ease and wounds, but from the absence of home and 
all its endearments and comfort, — things which the 
best-regulated hospitals, the most faithful attend- 
ants, the most skilful surgeons, and all the marvel- 
lous forethought and liberality of government, the 
Sanitary Commission, and other less and nameless 
charities, cannot supply. I have thought you 
needed some special home word of comfort and 
cheer. I have waited for some one else to speak it. 
I cannot wait longer. 

If sickness be hard to bear, very much harder is 
tliis condition of yours, — the neutral ground be- 
tween sickness and health, the long, dreary inter- 
val which stretches so uncertainly and with hope 



* A FEW WORDS WITH 

often deferred between the subsiding of disease and 
the going out to Ufe again. There is a power in 
active disease which soon convinces a man that it is 
useless for him to struggle, that his best wisdom is 
quietly to submit, and let disease have its way. He 
is held down to his bed ; his doctor, his nurse have 
him under subjection. He cannot rebel. He must 
obey. Besides, the sick man soon becomes recon- 
ciled to his bed. It is the only relief to his languor 
or his pain. He comes to say of it what Sancho 
once said of sleep : Blessings on the man who in- 
vented a bed. 

But convalescence is a different thing. Active 
disease has passed away, and the hope of health 
has taken its place. The doctor has ceased his 
medicines, the bed is no longer our one place of 
abode. We are beginning to move about. Other 
people lose much of their interest and sympathy, 
for danger is over. Their thought is no longer de- 
tained by our condition. They turn to something 
else. We are left to ourselves, to our own resour- 
ces. At the time we want and should prize atten- 
tions we are deprived of them. Weakened in mind, 
as body, we become easily depressed. We chafe at 
the lagging hours. We constantly put ourselves 
back by our efforts to get forward. We become 
peevish, discontented, unreasonable, despondent, un- 
comfortable to ourselves, uncomfortable to those 
about us. Our peculiar natural infirmities come out 



THE CONVALESCENT. 5 

with exaggerated power, and show now the tyrants 
they really are. We do not get much charity. Our 
best friends find it hard to get along with us, and 
our convalescence drags its slow, unhappy length 
along, the body weak and weary, the mind not yet 
adjusted to its balance, the heart sick with its hopes 
deferred, the whole man a discomfort to himself, 
and a puzzle or a plague to those about him. He 
must be a very rare character who can pass through 
the tedium of convalescence with honor and self- 
respect. 

If all this be true of ordinary convalescence, — 
convalescence at home, surrounded by all its cares 
and loves and protections, — how much more true 
must it be in the army hospital, where each man is 
only one of a crowd, where each is separated from 
the sympathy and consideration of home, where 
whims and weaknesses and ill-temper can have 
little attention and less forbearance, where all the 
discomfort of his position is aggravated by absence, 
and that sickly yearning for home, itself worse than 
disease. 

Now do not think that this state of yours is not 
recognized by friends at home. It is not one they 
can reach or do anything directly for, but if there 
be anything in sympathy, anything in appreciation 
of service, anything in pity for suffering, anything 
in good-will and prayer, you have them all. They 
ai*e not things tangible to the sense, it is true, as the 



6 A FEW WORDS WITH 

delicacies are which find their way to your sickly 
appetite sometimes, or the tender look, word, act you 
long for; but they are the tribute, the genuine, 
generous tribute, of warm hearts, — all that the cir- 
cumstances will allow us to give and you to receive. 
Men who judge of everything by their senses may 
call all this nothing. But it is not so. The unseen 
forces are the most vital and effective. They are 
the powers behind the act. These sentiments keep 
you before our thought ; they keep us not only 
alive to the demands, but the sufferings of the hour. 
They cannot remove every pain or delay, prevent 
all mistake or abuse, give you what home only can ; 
but there is not a hospital ward in the land where 
their influence is not felt, nor a wounded soldier on 
the field that they do not reach. "What is this 
blessed, all-embracing charity of the Sanitary Com- 
mission, — not omnipotent, indeed, but almost omni- 
present, — Avhat are lesser associated and private 
charities, but the expression of feelings which per- 
vade the homes and the hearts of the land ? "What 
are they but the combining together and bringing 
to your relief of those unseen things which men 
are apt to scoff at and consider as merely feelings 
and words, but thus, by their fruit, become tangible 
and blessed things. 

Thi'ow off, then, the despondency which is so apt 
to settle upon the convalescent because he thinks 
himself out of the pale of sympathy. It is not so. 



THE CONVALESCENT. 7 

Never were men so surrounded and embraced by 
the holiest sympathy as you ; never did charity 
so beautifully exemplify the sweetness and the 
breadth of her spirit ; never did the wealth and 
good-will of a people so overflow as to-day it does 
toward you, as it will till this " cruel war is over," 
and you are again in the old homes, filling your old 
places there, and felt again as neighbors and citi- 
zens, — soldiers no more. You are heroes to us, as 
well as those who lie on the field of honor. You 
are soldiers and men, and all suffering of the hos- 
pital, as of the field, is hei'oic. It is true, and 
shame that it should be true, that there are some 
who are so wholly led away by the sound of 
things that they do not recognize your service or 
feel for your need. It is true that some are daz- 
zled more by rank than by merit ; that the accident 
of a wound is more to them than the fact of a dis- 
ease ; that a dainty officer on crutches, or with an 
empty sleeve, will carry their applause, while the 
sick private may want the merest decencies of 
charity. Shame that it should be so ; yet there are 
such men and women, and only now, in a New 
England town, the whole neighborhood turned out 
to welcome a wounded officer, while a poor, sick 
soldier, of the same town, returning by the same 
train, was permitted to crawl away by himself to 
his home, and die there two days after. Myself, I 
once met on a crowded steamboat a gaudily dressed 



8 



A FEW WORDS WITH 



Zouave, in uniform that had never seen the smoke 
of battle, upon costly crutches, with a ball through 
the fleshy part of his leg, the observed of all ob- 
servers, the recipient of flattering attentions from 
all around him, while a poor, dying private, the 
most pitiable of sights, told me that in all that 
crowd he had been indebted to the help of a woman 
to get his valise on board ! Yes, such things are. 
Believe me, they are not common. They are the 
exception. The real men and women of the land, 
those whom you would value, are not deceived by 
the fiction of rank or show. They do not gaun-e 
and dole their charities that way. The real in- 
terest, the true love, the reliable judgment of home, 
centres upon her braves wherever they are, what- 
ever their condition, their rank, their suffering. 
Cheer up, then, and do nothing to forfeit the good- 
will and the earnest sympathy of home. 

The general spirit of cheerfulness pervading our 
hospitals has been a frequent matter of comment 
and surprise. I have found it the same every- 
where. But the very men who were cheerful in 
bed, or in the earlier stages of recovery, become 
despondent as the long, dull weeks roll on with 
their wearing monotony, while they make no sub- 
stantial gain. I do not wonder at it. It is hard 
when one is at home, and has everything done for 
him, to keep up the tone of the spirit It is hard 
to feel the active w^orld in which you have had a 



THE CONVALESCENT. 9 

part, in which you have taken part, passing on, ab- 
sorbed in its pursuits, while you are laid by as a 
useless thing, your place filled, yourself forgotten. 
But this is inevitable, and it is not manly to yield 
to any despondency. That is a feeling which must 
be guarded against. It is a terrible, an insidious 
foe. It strikes at your manhood. It saps your 
courage and your self-respect. It lets you down, it 
degrades you in your own eyes. It tempts, it leads 
you into forbidden things. You become morose 
and peevish, unreasonable and complaining. Our 
homes are flooded with reports that have come from 
men in this condition, doing a gross injustice to the 
kindly efforts of those about them, making the home 
unhappy, and casting suspicion on the purest chari- 
ties, and threatening to stop the source of supply. 
One of the worst forms this spirit of despond- 
ency assumes, and one you must guard specially 
against, is the loss of self-respect. It is all over 
with a man when it comes to that. It is no use for 
him to hope or to contend. In losing that he loses 
all. He is like the man who loses his grasp at the 
brink of a precipice. His fall is inevitable and 
fatal. God gave us as an instinct, a saving power, 
this self-respect, and we should all guard it as his 
gift and our hope of salvation. I know how it is 
with you. You left home with high hope. You 
were going to do something for your country, but 
here you are. You can't get home, you can't go 



10 A FEW WORDS WITH 

back to the field, you can't get well. Very dis- 
couraginfj it is, indeed. The people about you 
don't realize how discouraging it is. Government 
can't stop to think about it, surgeons and nurses 
have no time for you. They only see diseases in 
the flesh, — disease in the spirit is not within their 
province. Strangers do not think much about you. 
Their sympathy is with the sick. The chaplain 
does something, and kind, thoughtful people do 
what they can by sending you books and other 
means of occupation. But these are after all only 
pebbles against the swell and sweep of the deep, 
dark current, which the gloomy, lengthening days 
only make deeper and darker. Every true man 
and woman feels how hard it is for you, and thanks 
God that they have not such a discipline. But, 
hard as it is, don't give up your manhood. Hold 
on to your self-respect. Do not stoop to anything 
as a present relief which will afterward make you 
ashamed. Do not desert any principle, do not 
yield to or form any bad habit, but summon all 
your courage, — courage which has stood you in 
such good stead in many a trial hour before, — and 
resolve to bear patiently till the brighter hour 
comes. 

Some of the saddest things I have seen in hos- 
pitals have been the signs that weary convalescence 
was telling on the men in this way, and they wei'e 
losing heart. I have seen men out on leave, stas- 



THE CONVALESCENT. 11 

gering toward the hospital again, — sick men, 
wounded men, crippled men. It was a sad, sad 
sight. It said that they were losing self-respect. 
For is there anything that takes that pearl of price 
from a man quicker ? That which makes a drunk- 
ard's case so hopeless is that you have no self- 
respect to work on. It is clean gone. I have seen 
many sad sights in my day, but I think no sadder 
than a man, in a uniform which showed him to be 
an American soldier, dnmk. I cannot help a cer- 
tain respect for that uniform wherever I meet it, 
and the more I respect it the moi-e am I grieved 
when I see it disgraced. 

I know that another thing troubles you. You 
feel that you are privates, and the manner of your 
officers and of some foolish persons, and the needed 
discipline of service, leads you to think that a pri- 
vate, especially a sick private, is of no account, a 
useless encumbrance every one would be glad to have 
well out of the way. I want to assure you of one 
thing. It is the private soldier for whom these im- 
mense hospitals all through the land have been con- 
structed, — for whom the Sanitary Commission, with 
a wisdom the world never dreamed of before, is toil- 
ing, for whom a charity that never slacks is giving, 
for whom the busy hands and hearts of the women 
and childi-en of the land are daily and hourly not 
only working, but saving. Your officers do not al- 
ways enough consider what we never forget, — that 



12 A FEW WORDS WITH 

the private in this war is a man from the home, al- 
ways their equal, often their superior. If they abuse 
their authority, as they sometimes do ; if they are 
cruel in their neglect, and make you trouble by 
their ignorance ; be sure the home knows it and 
remembers it, and when their brief authority is over, 
and they are on the simple level and equality of 
manhood again, all this will return with fearful usury 
upon them. Try to bear all to-day. You have 
trials and privations, hardship, and sometimes injus- 
tice. But keep a good heart. The man who bears 
up, works his way through things that break the 
man who gives up. 

It is hard to be laid aside, to feel that the neglect 
of company officers deprives you of your pay, and 
your families of their support, that the strange de- 
lay in the department deprives you of your fur- 
lough or discharge. It is hard even to suspect that 
you are considered of no moment, now that you can 
no longer serve. All this we at home know and 
realize. But it will never do for you to lose your 
just pride, your brave heart, — never do to give up. 
You are soldiers. You bear the scar of service. 
The disease, the wound, the disability, is a badge of 
honor. Every true heart recognizes it. You have 
borne up under the trials and disasters of the field. 
With indomitable will you have overcome the diffi- 
culties before and about you. You have not quailed 
under the call of duty. Why quail now? Why 



THE CONVALESCENT. 13 

lose heart ? Why not be as brave, as persistent ? 
The end is as desirable as the victory upon the 
field. The end is to keep your manhood, your in- 
tegrity, to keep from slipping into the power of 
low things. Camp and field have made you heroes. 
The hospital must not make you recreant and cow^ 
ard. 

You see by what I say that I have no idea that 
the uncomfortable things attending convalescence 
must be tamely submitted to. I cannot agree with 
a wise friend of mine, who says " that one of the 
chief duties of a sick-room is to forget duties, lay 
aside responsibilities, and so rest the will. We are 
not under law in sleep, nor are we in sickness." 
I think we are imder law in sickness. The sick- 
room, the hospital ward, has its duties. Not the 
gravely sick, it is true, can be held to much duty, 
to none of the old duty of active life, but the period 
of convalescence — the most trying period of sick- 
ness — has its duties, and they should not be evaded. 
You must summon yourselves to the discharge of 
them. It is no excuse that they are hard. No 
good soldier urges that in health, when any duty or 
any superior commands. He obeys. The hardness 
is a stimulant. So much the better soldier is he if 
he succeed ; so much the greater honor. No good 
soldier should hesitate now. The duty of obedience 
is as great. The thing at stake is as vital. His 
own comfort, character, self-respect, are concerned. 



14 A FEW WORDS WITH 

Let him lose these, let him be poltroon, let him 
yield, go back from the hospital to the field or the 
home a poor, pitiless, abject, spiritless man, and all 
the honor he may have got on the battle-field is of 
little avail. 

Patient waiting is perhaps the hardest thing a man 
ever does. It is many times the only thing he can 
do. It is the only thing many of you can do. "What 
good will it do for you to fret, to rebel, to kick 
the pricks ? An inexorable necessity compels 
you to wait. It will not let you act. You are 
bound hand and foot. There is no help for it, — 
nothing you can do. Your wisdom is to wait 
quietly. 

Suffering friends ! in all your suffering remember 
the oversight, the watchful care of the good Father. 
He doeth all things well. Not a sparrow falls with- 
out him. Fear not, despair not. Through this way 
may you enter your glory. The glory that comes 
of man fades, but the glory of God is perennial. 
Though men desert and decry you, though they 
withdraw sympathy and charity, though the love of 
home grow cold, and you become forgotten, outcast 
and alien, yet will not He cast you off, while you 
accept his burden and bear his yoke. But home 
and all honorable men will never do that. They 
still cherish and hope and pray for you. Disap- 
point them not. Keep fast by your integrity. Main- 
tain your manliness. Bear as patiently as you have 



THE CONVALESCENT. 15 

done nobly, submit as obediently to God's will as of 
old to your general's command, and it must end well 
with you. You may never come to health of body 
here, but you must come to health of soul, which 
shall make all right in the hereafter ! 



Army Series.] . [No. 17. 



THE RECONNOISSANCE. 



BY 



JOHN F. W. WARE, 



B O STON: 
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1864. 



THE EECONNOISSANCE. 



What a queer word that is ! How do you pro- 
nounce it ? I don't find any two men together who 
pronounce it the same way. It is one way in the 
army, where you know what the thing is, and it is 
another way at home, where the word rather con- 
fuses us about the thing. What was the need in 
having the thing called that way ? Why can't we, 
who have a good, masculine, hearty native tongue 
of our own, stick to it, and not go about the world 
over beating up and engrafting foreign words and 
phrases, and treating them with a little more defer- 
ence than we do our own ? I believe in loyalty 
to my mother tongue as fully as in loyalty to my 
mother land. General Dix has been much ap- 
plauded because he gave the order to shoot any 
man who should haul down the American flag. I 
^vish somebody had the power to give such an order 
against any one who hauls down the American lan- 
guage. Is not a language a part of, does it not 
represent, nationality as well as a flag ? What an 
absurdity it is to be obliged to call one of our most 



4 THE EECONNOISSANCE. 

stirring songs, wliich was written and intended to 
be national, by that outlandish name, Viva r Amer- 
ica ! Was there ever a greater insult to the good 
sense, the patriotism, of a people ? I marvel that 
it has been so silently submitted to. I don't care 
to lose the tune, but I hope we shall some way be 
rid of the words, or that part of them at least. I 
go for the language^ as well as " the jiag, of the 
free." 

"Well, never mind the word. It has a meaning, 
and a good meaning. It is a thing of use, and 
great use too, especially where one is in the ene- 
my's country. What would become of that general 
who should not make a reconnoissance one of his 
frequent duties ? How could he advance securely, 
fight successfully, or even stand still safely, other- 
wise ? He must know the character of the country 
before and about him, — its roads, its streams, the 
lay of the land, its capacity to support ; he must 
know the number, the position, the disposition, of 
his antagonist ; he must be wary and quick to un- 
derstand his movements and his resources before 
the inevitable advance and attack are made. I 
take it that an army may fight ever so well, but 
if nothing is known of the character of the foe in 
front, or the character of the ground to be fought 
over, the chances are that it cannot fight success- 
fully. There must ever be some other element of 
success in a battle beside courage. 



THE RECONNOISSANCE. & 

Now let us apply tWs morally. I do not quite 
like to say, what I suppose some would say readily, 
that the soul of man is in an enemy's country, be- 
cause I believe we are always and only in God's 
country, — the country of our best Friend. But I 
will say that in this country the soul is at war. It 
is beset with foes. It is held in leaguer. It is in 
great peril. Its whole life has got to be struggle. 
It must have the utmost vigilance, the most stead- 
fast com'age, the most wary prudence, — any and 
every quality or virtue which a soldier needs to 
have or to exercise in presence of an enemy. 

These alone, however, will not avail. "We need 
something more than these powers within us. Shut 
up to themselves, in the attitude, with the will, of 
attack or defence, they can do little. We are like 
men cooped up in an isolated fortress on the top of 
a rock or on an island in the midst of a sea. "What 
we need is, to know something of our surroundings, 
to find out what there is outside of us, what we are 
to meet, and how we are to meet it. 

How shall this be done ? By a reconnoissance 
A man must know something of the world he goes 
into before he goes into it. He must not trust 
merely to his imagination, his dream, of it ; he 
must not imagine himself to have a power none 
has had, and be able to assume and hold a mastery 
over it. He must know something about it, its 
lures and pitfalls ; not only that he has a strong 

Ko. 17. 1 * 



6 THE RECONNOISSANCE. 

and wary enemy, but wherein his strength and 
power lie. He needs to know something of his 
foes before it will be any way safe to measure 
strength with them. 

And this a man is apt not to do. He has all 
sorts of wise things said to him, all sorts of friendly 
warnings, but he generally guesses he is as wise as 
anybody, as capable of caring for himself as they 
are. He repels the overtures of experience, and 
in all confidence marches out to the combat before 
him. He does not deny that it has difiiculties. He 
expects resistance. He believes he shall have hard 
blows, and many of them ; that only through fidel- 
ity and fighting he shall win. But he does not 
doubt that he shall win. In imagination he sees 
himself, after every struggle, crowned victor ; and 
there comes his trouble. In the over-confidence 
of ignorance, into an unknown world, with the best 
purposes, he goes, only to find that his purposes 
avail him little ; that his expectations were the ver- 
iest impossibilities ; that the rude, sharp, combined 
assault of temptations whose wiles and powers he 
did not know are more than a match for him ; that 
they have not only bruised and beaten and van- 
quished, but have mortified and discouraged him. 

I have seen the criticism made by an officer of 
high position, that the battle at "Williamsburg was 
a battle fought without a reconnoissance. I should 
say, upon general principles, that the objection was 



THE RECONNOISSANCE. 7 

valid ; while I am sure that in life to undertake 
anything of moment without a first survey and study 
of the ground before would not only be folly, but 
likely to be fatal. The merchant does not embark 
in a venture without understanding the market. 
The manufacturer determines the character of his 
fabric by the character of the demand. The farmer 
plants as he knows his soil will yield, or as con- 
sumption requires. Every right, successful action 
in active life is determined by forethought, inquiry, 
judicious observation, and a calm balancing of all 
the varieties of information that can be had ; and 
it is just as much more important that this should 
take place in our moral and religious life as our 
moral and religious life is more important than the 
life of business. As he would be set aside as an 
unwise man who should plunge into the world of 
affairs with reckless ignorance and indifference to 
all facts, as success in his case could only be a happy 
blunder, so must he be held unwise who shall pre- 
sent himself in the life of duties, temptations, trials, 
ignorant of, indifferent to them, while no blunder 
can save him. Rightly to live, surely to pass 
through this world, wisely to discharge all obliga- 
tion, to win now peace and one's own self-respect, 
and hereafter peace with God's approval, can only 
come tlu-ough a constant fore-looking and out-look- 
ing. No advance without it. A man omits, de- 
spises it, at his peril. 

Another thing is essential to a recomioissance. 



8 THE RECONNOISSANCE. 

The Saviour expressed it when he said, " Or what 
king, going to war against another king, sitteth not 
down and consulteth whether he be able with ten 
thousand to meet him that cometh against him with 
twenty thousand." It is not the ground to be fought 
over, or the number and disposition of the hostile 
force only, but your own ability to meet that force, 
which needs to be known, which forms a vital part 
of this duty. "Without it you cannot make a suc- 
cess. 

It was an old saying of heathen philosophy, 
" Know thyself." It has been repeated in both 
Testaments. It is a maxim we learned at school. 
"We wrote it in our copy-books. It has been urged 
upon us by the experiences of life. Like many 
good things, we pay little heed to it ; and a great 
many of us grow up knowing all about our neigh- 
bors, but nothing about ourselves. 

Now, if a man is self-ignoi-ant, he may just ws 
well give all up. "What can he do ? He will be 
getting into difficulty all the time. He will be just 
where he ought not to be. He will do just what 
he ought not to do. When he ought to fight, he 
wiU run ; and when he ought to run, he will stay 
and tiy to fight, and get whipped for his blunder. 
The way men get into these moral exposures which 
make such trouble is, that they over-estimate their 
ability to resist them. They put themselves where 
there is no need of their being ; they court expo- 
sures which they might just as well avoid. Temp- 



THE KECONNOISSANCE. 9 

tations do not come to us so much as we go after 
them. That is the way a man becomes a drunkard, 
a gambler, or any bad thing. Ignorant of himself, 
he will reply to your warning, " Just as if there 
was any danger ! " He will not try to avoid, he 
will seek it. When you hear a man say that, set 
him down as one who has neglected to reconnoitre, 
and be sure disaster will visit his presumption. The 
Apostle said many true things, and uttered many 
needed warnings, but nothing more true or more 
needed than when he said, " Let any man that 
thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." Is 
it not the great fact and trouble in the life of many 
a man, that all the way through he puts liimself, 
through ignorance of himself, in the way of temp- 
tations that God never meant for him, that God 
would save him from, which he is no way prepared 
to cope with ? The bravado with which many go 
out into life, with which many pass through life, is 
strikingly in contrast with the true bravery of him 
who, by calm, careful, thorough survey, is always 
found at tlie post of duty, equal to every emer- 
gency, and conqueror in every assault. It is the 
self-confidence of self-ignorant Peter, not the quiet, 
consistent courage of the wise and humble Master. 

Two things let me add about this duty. First, 
let it he frequent. Some men think it does harm 
to examine ourselves too much, that it makes mor- 
bid and discourages. Surely it will not so affect 
any hearty, earnest, brave man. Why, the essence 



10 THE RECONNOISSANCE. 

of life is to know one's self. What the old heathen 
pjiilosophy said, and both Testaments repeat, must 
be true. All life proves it. You can't do any- 
thing sure without a thorouglily posted self-knowl- 
edge. Not the self of last year or last week is the 
one you want to know, but the self of to-day. So 
you must make the inward reconnoitring a frequent 
thing. Do it every day, so as to be sure that you 
know just where you are, just what your strength, 
just what your weakness, so that you can detect 
any growing folly, strengthen any struggling or 
threatened virtue. The good general " feels " the 
country he is in often. To-day's report is not neces- 
sarily true of to-morrow. He is on the alert to 
corroborate or to correct by fresh experience his 
former decision. He will not attack by last week's 
report, nor will he trust to the defence based upon 
past information. He knows that a foe is active, 
wary, fruitful in expedient, and that he is always 
in new danger. It must be so with you. Of what 
use for you to know yourself thoroughly to-day, all 
about your dangers and exposures, to settle your 
defence, post your guards, strengthen your weak 
points, if you are going to leave them to them- 
selves, and take it for granted that the work is 
done once for all, and that you are henceforth 
safe ? Is not our enemy always busy ? Are not 
our moral moods, habits, cravings, temptations, al- 
ways changing ? Are we not in danger to-day 
from one thing, next week from another, and does 



THE BECONNOISSANCE. 11 

not every change of condition, employment, com- 
panionship, change the character of our exposure ? 
"We can only be safe by constant inquiry into our 
moral and religious condition, by a daily feeling 
of these enemies so thick about our soul's way, a 
daily knowing of our souls themselves, to see what 
heart there is in them for their never-ending, ever- 
shifting warfare. It is the reconnoissance insures 
the safety, secures the victory to the soldier, and 
self-knowledge it is, under God, which gives safety 
and victory to the soul. 

Then always make your reconnoissance in force. 
Do not half do it. Put your whole manhood into 
it. Do not be afraid to know just where you are, 
just what you are, the worst as well as the best. 
Face your weaknesses, your temptations, your dan- 
gers, your sins. Know them, brand them, expel 
them. Don't wince or shrink or shirk. Don't 
allow any skulking. Drag out the secret thing. 
What is the use of asking God to cleanse us from 
secret sins, if we are going to shut our eyes to them 
ourselves, or persist in hugging them ? Do not, as 
some, draw back when the search reveals what you 
do not like to see. Keep your eye open, your heart 
single and brave. A half-advance is about as bad 
as a full retreat. It reveals nothing of real value, 
increases your reluctance to search again, encour- 
ages your bad habits and desires ; the evil things 
in you get to feel that, however much parade and 
bluster you may make, you will never be in earnest, 



12 THE KECONNOISSANCE. 

and will grow more and more exacting and secure ; 
and you will be tenfold more their slave in the 
ind. When, therefore, you reconnoitre, let it be 
in force, with all your mind, and all your strength, 
and all your heart. 

Plutarch says, in his Life of Caesar, that " he was, 
above all men, gifted with the faculty of making the 
right use of everything in war, most especially of 
seizing the right moment." Was not this the true 
secret of his success, — he was always on the alert, 
knew all about his foe, all about his own resource, 
and was ready at the right moment to strike the 
right blow? With us the golden moments slip. 
We all have them given us, but they seem as lead 
as they pass away, because we are not alert, not 
watchful, not ready. The moment comes to do. 
God calls. The opportunity of victory is given. We 
might be heroes, — more than conquerors. The 
moment passes, the opportunity, the privilege, and 
a deeper, more hopeless darkness shuts upon us. 
God has been faithful. The neglect is with our- 
selves. We did not know the hour nor ourselves 
in it. 

Would you be to your soul what CjEsar was to 
Rome, — better, far better, would you partake in 
the power and victory of Christ, — know thor- 
oughly, by constant inquiry, both the world and 
your own soul. Such knowledge is wisdom above 
price. 



Army Series.] [No. lb. 



THE REVEILLE. 



BT 



JOHN F. W. WARE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1864. 



THE REVEILLE. 



Here is another of the words which has not a 
home look. It is another interloper. I hear sol- 
diers even pronounce it differently. They do not 
seem quite sure about it. It does not come out 
square and honest, as a home word would. And 
we poor civilians make terrible work with it. We 
don't know what to call it. I was amused, the 
other day, at a history of the word canteen. It 
was originally tin can, and was good Saxon. The 
French got hold of it, turned it round, gave a 
French accent to it, and it became can-teen. Some 
wise man, hunting up a foreign word to annex to 
his mother tongue, found and laid hold of this, with- 
out asking any questions ; and so the poor exile 
got back again, but so disguised that his own knew 
him not. 

"What do you think about reveille ? How do you 
like it ? Not very well, I suspect, especially after 
a long march, a hard fight, a day in the trenches, 
or a turn at picket. I do not believe it is any 
pleasanter for a soldier to be waked than for any 



4 THE REVEILLE. 

other man ; and one of the things in camp life that 
has impressed me most is the turning out of the 
men in the morning. It did not give me a very 
\dvid impression of individual happiness, or of the 
collective dignity of an army. 

But, like many unpleasant things, it is not mere- 
ly necessary, but wholesome. It breaks rudely in 
upon needed repose, delicious slumber, and precious 
dreams, interposing the stern reality between you 
and that so coveted intercourse with home that 
comes to one in sleep, or that utter oblivion of care 
and pain and danger which is so essential to the 
soldier. It comes unwelcomed, but it comes to 
rouse you to that for which you live, — to toil, to 
peril, to duty. It gives you reality for dreams ; it 
brings you back to life, and the work of life ; and, 
however unpleasant the act at the moment, how- 
ever reluctantly you answer the demand, I suppose 
it to be with you as with every true man, — once 
fully awake, you would not lie down to sleep again 
if you could. I do not know anything that a man 
wide awake more wonders at than the feeUng of 
aversion and dread with which he, a few moments 
before, shrunk from rising. 

There is nothing that has any worth, vigor, life, 
but, from time to time, needs rewakening. It 
seems as if continuous activity were impossible. 
There are seasons when everything lags, sleeps. 
We have action, great and wonderful, and then re- 



THE KEVEILLE. 5 

action, as great and wonderful, — energy, and ther 
lethargy, — as if the vital powers exhausted them- 
selves, and required a rest, and the renewal that 
comes only of suf^pended labor. It is so in nature. 
The vigor of summer is succeeded by the sleep 
of winter, and before we can have harvest again 
there must be the reveille, at which she rouses 
herself and puts on the drapery of new life. It 
is so in the history of the world's progress, the 
development of the I'ace, either intellectually, mor- 
ally, or politically. History is just that, — the 
record of the swings of the pendulum between labor 
and repose, — and her grand epochs are the sound- 
ing of the reveille, which starts men from their tor- 
por, and sends them out reinvigorated to new exer- 
tion and greater victory, to the onward march of 
civilization and of life. Not only Judiea, but the 
whole world, had been in a terrible stupor, the 
whole religious life overlaid and lost sight of in 
base superstition and dead forms and trifling cere- 
monies, when a clear, short, sharp cry came sound- 
ing down the valley of the Jordan, " Repent, re- 
pent ! " and John, in his wild, desert garb, startled 
the slumbering people into expectation and prepa- 
ration for Him the latchet of whose shoes neither he 
nor we yet are worthy to unloose. It was a world's 
reveille. — The name and power of Christianity had 
all been absorbed by the Romish Church. It was 
the usurper of every human right. It was a despot 
No. 18. > * 



6 THE REVEILLE. 

such as the world had never seen. It chained, not 
men's bodies, but their souls. It robbed them of 
that which was most precious, — right to their own 
opinions. It walled up the kingdom of Heaven, 
then opened a little postern gate, and if you would 
pay the priest, and acknowledge the infallibility of 
the Church, and recognize the Pope as Christ's 
vicegerent, you might be admitted. Under this 
terrible thrall men's consciences, as their hopes, 
slept. But the monk Luther startled the sleepers. 
The reveille was sounded, and with no uncertain 
sound. Men everywhere sprung up at it, alert, 
delighted, recognizing it as the call to life, for 
which they long had sighed ; and the power of the 
Church was broken, and Protestantism born. I 
remember that after one of those earlier terrible 
fights at the West — was it at Fort Donelson ? — 
a writer tells us that when he woke in the morning 
he could see no signs of an army about him, but, so 
far as his eye could reach, only long, low mounds 
covered with snow. Then suddenly the morning 
drum, the quick roll, the reveille ! and every mound 
of snow sprung into the air ; the snow-wreaths feU 
away, and revealed the full-armed, ready soldier. 
Weary with their struggle, they had sunk to slum- 
ber as they stood, and the night storm had wrapped 
them in its mantle. So it has seemed to me that 
waking cry of Luther startled the sleepers from 
cold, deathlike slumber, and revealed them to them- 



THE REVEILLE. 7 

selves and to the world as stiU men, fuU-armed and 
ready. — The history of to-day gives us another 
illustration. Our fathers, with pain and privation, 
had founded a grand republic, with a corner-stone 
called liberty. To us that had become little more 
than a name and a boast. It was an inheritance 
only, a dower from the past. It was like a family 
picture, or a silver cup, valuable asT a rehc, good as 
an heirloom, but of no use to-day. So we denied 
our birthright and slept, — slept as no seven sleep- 
ers of fable could, — basely as well as deadly. Bat 
hark ! The reveille ! It is a solitary gun booming 
over the waters on a quiet spring morning ; and as 
its missile crashes against the sacred wall that en- 
closed the sacred band beneath that sacred flag, we, 
new-born as a nation, roused, sprung to our feet, to 
arms, — all recreance gone, ready to dare, to do, to 
die ! Along the wild mountain-passes, through the 
narrow defiles, of troubled Scotland, when the foe 
pressed, the swift runner bore the lighted torch, 
some unspent foot snatching it from his weary 
hand and speeding it on, till answering lights from 
craggy heights showed the clans awake and mar- 
shalling for the fray. So, pulsed over the throb- 
bing wire, from State to State, from town to town, 
from home to home, the tocsin sounded, which you 
received as a summons to your manhood and your 
loyalty, and have answered with your devotion. 
Of all the grand awakenings since John's warning 



8 THE REVEILLE. 

cry, I read none so grand as this. It touched a 
deadlier torpor; it broke through social, political 
trammel ; it made men hear the word of God ; it 
turned back the foul torrent of corruption ; it gave 
the true meaning and emphasis to the word liberty ; 
it enfranchised a race down-trodden, despised, cursed 
as race never was, which to-day stands shoulder to 
shoulder with the proudest blood of our proud civ- 
ilization, and with it lays and cements the stone 
of the new comer. BuUd well on that, noble 
friends ; stand to your ranks, and strike till every 
shackle and disability fall ; and I think there shall 
rise a statelier edifice than any builded by human 
hands, at whose shrine all oppressed may find asy- 
lum, whose dome shall bear as its top glory, brighter 
than within the tabernacle of old, the Shechinah of 
the Divine presence. 

As we pass from childhood — which is nearer 
to heaven than many get again — into the life and 
temptations of youth and manhood, we settle into 
indifference at least, as regards things pure and 
holy and of good report. We swing from inno- 
cence to indifference. As we get on in life, this 
indifference hardens into something more positive, 
— a dislike, a rebellion, if not an unbelief. It is 
virtually the language of the grown men of the 
land, as it was of the king's servant in the para- 
ble, " We wUl not have this man to reign over us." 
The love of God is not in our hearts, nor is his law 
the law of our lives. 



THE REVEILLE. 9 

It oftentimes is not a very distinctly marked con- 
dition that ensues. We are respectable, trusty men 
still. There is something that keeps us from being 
very bad. "We have self-respect, and self-interest 
too. Men find no special fault with us. We do 
"well enough for their purposes. Between this state 
and that of the hardened sinner there is every pos- 
sible gradation. 

From all this, the least as the greatest, men need 
to be roused. I think it is better and truer to say 
they need to rouse themselves. They must not 
wait for the reveille to come from without, but 
sound it themselves through all the turns and 
secret places of their own being, — sound till the 
whole man is up. The whole tenor of the Gospel 
is this way. The Apostle cried, "Awake, thou 
that sleepest, and arise, and Christ shall give thee 
light," — the gift after and because of the sleeper's 
own act. So with Christ in his miracles ; — " Stretch 
out thy hand," " Rise, take up thy bed, and walk," 
" Go wash in the pool of Siloam," — the thing de- 
sired comes after the action of the sufferer. So 
with God in his grace. You may think of excep- 
tions, and exceptions to rules are always striking ; 
but the rule is, that man shall toil, pray, have faith 
first, and then, as consequent, as in some sense a 
reward, God's help and blessing. It is not first 
the harvest and then the spring, first the ripe 
fruit and then the sowing of the seed, nor is it 



10 THE REVEILLE. 

first a full Christian experience and character and 
then the means for reaching it. The children of 
light should be as wise as children of the world, 
who know that means must precede ends. There 
are very many who spend their time waiting for 
God to act upon them ; who expect to be wrought 
upon, taken by force out of their sins, and made 
saints ; who stand and listen for some startling 
word out of heaven ; and so they wait unclean 
and unhealed as that man at Bethesda who waited 
years for somebody to put him into the healing 
water, instead of putting himself in. I do not 
believe that God will work a miracle on a soul to 
save it. It must rouse itself from stupor by the 
means patent and available to every one. That is 
the first step toward salvation. It does not need 
any machinery of church or priest, the passing 
through any cast-iron, formal experience, but a 
real, stirring self-rousing. 

You cannot do this aU at once. You may de- 
cide at once, you may begin at once ; there may 
be a marked change, as a crisis or epoch, to your 
existence, which you wiU always date from ; but a 
true awakening is not like that at the drum-beat 
or bugle-call, but a thing of time. I think there 
is the mistake of revivals, and the weak point in 
individual experiences, which result so much in 
harm to the Church, and harm to the man. Men 
are taught to regard conversion as a sudden thing, 



THE REVEILLE. 11 

to expect it to be like the voice at night which sent 
the young wonderer to the equally wondering Eli. 
To use the military phrase, they think it is to be 
" right about face, march J' If they have no such 
experience, they think they are lost, though they 
may be earnestly striving to please God all the 
while ; if they have, they think it is enough. But 
the first start of the sleeper is not his complete 
waking ; the first impulse of a startled soul does 
not secure it in the strength and virtue of the 
Christian. It is this which makes the after effect 
of " revivals," " conversions," so bad, which makes 
so many backsliders. They have not been thor- 
oughly awaked ; they have only tossed uneasily in 
their sleep ; when the pressure was off, they have 
slumbered again, probably more deadly than before, 
with the chances increased that they do not thor- 
oughly awake till the great reveille shall sound. 

The great duty, then, is not only to awake thor- 
ouglily, but to keep awake. As the hymn says, 

" Awake my soul when sin is nigh, 
And keep it still awake." 

You may wake ever so thoroughly, but if you are 
going to drop off again, — if you are to be after 
that kind described in the parable of the sower, 
who have no root, who become offended, choked by 
cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches, 
— you might as well not wake at all. What good 



12 THE REVEILLE. 

the drum-beat, if, after your morning parade, you 
are going to sleep again, instead of passing the day 
in active, vigilant duty ? It is the keeping awake 
■which is to make you serviceable as a soldier ; it 
is the keeping awake wliich is going to make you 
serviceable as a Christian. If you will do that, 
rouse yourself at the call made, and pray God ever 
for strength to keep awake, — if you will be alive 
to duty, vigilant against evil, doing always every- 
tliing you possibly can to make yourself a better 
man, preparing by fidelity in the lower service of 
this hfe for a loftier service in the life beyond, — 
you will accomplish the great purpose of your war- 
fare here, and can depart with that honest self- 
approval which the Apostle had, — "I have fought 
the fight, I have kept the faith ; henceforth there 
is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which 
the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that 
day : and not me only, but unto all them also that 
love his appearing." 

" Arise ! it is the Master's will : 

No more his heavenly voice despise; 

Why linger with the dying still ? 
He calls : arouse you, and arise ! 

No longer slight the Saviour's call: 

It sounds to you, to me, to all. 



Army Series.] [No. 19. 



EALLY UPON THE EESEEVE! 



BY 



JOHN F. W. WARE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1864. 



EALLI UPON THE RESERVE! 



Skirmishers ! the enemy presses you. He is 
stronger and more alert than was supposed. He is 
in force, on your front and flank. You are exposed 
every way. The danger is imminent. The con- 
flict is against you. You cannot stand. Hark ! 
The bugle ! What does it say ? Retreat ? No. 
" Rally upon the reserve ! " 

We are deployed as skirmishers in the great life- 
battle. We do not go into the conflict in battalions 
or by divisions. We do not stand shoulder to shoul- 
der. We cannot touch our comrade by the elbow. 
We go against the great allied powers of evil singly. 
It is our single arm against the combined foe. The 
man next us, — the nearest, dearest friend we have, 
cannot help us. He has his own work. He has his 
post. He is under orders to hold it, as you are to 
hold yours. He cannot think of you. He cannot 
help you. His duty lies in front. You are alone. 
He is alone. Every man is alone. Not in solid 
column, not as a huge force, a combined humanity, 
may we hurl ourselves against the old, hoary pow- 

No. 19. 



4 RALLY UPON THE RESERVE ! 

er3 of sin, but as we can singly. "We are as skir- 
mishers in this great strife. 

The enemy presses. We have struggled long, 
some of us well, some but indifferently. The day is 
far spent. We are worn with its heat and its toil. 
We have stood our ground as well as we could. 
But the enemy gains, and we begin to falter. The 
fight is fearful in front, and there are symptoms that 
the flank is turned. There have been dropping shots 
upon the right and the left, and a fresh pressure in 
front. What sliall we do ? Retreat ? That were 
ignominious, that were to lose all, that were to sur- 
render the cause as well as ourselves, that were rec- 
reance to duty and to God. Shall we fight on ? To 
what good against such odds ? Hark ! A bugle-call ! 
What does it say ? — " Rally upon the reserve ! " 

Yes ! rally upon the reserve ! That is it. Vain 
to run, vain to fall back, vainer still to contend sin- 
gle-handed. '■^ Rally upon the reserve!" We are 
saved ! 

What is this reserve to which the imperilled soul 
may fly, and find so sure a succor ? Do you not 
know ? Can it be other than God ? 

One strange mistake men make, — and they have 
persistently made it from the beginning, — is in the 
attempt to do God's work without God. This life- 
duty of ours is not a something that man sets him- 
self about ; neither do human governments, or laws, 
or society. Our work is of God, — your work, my 



RALLY UPON THE RESERVE 



work, every man's work. We never in any way 
get divorced from that. He sends us into the world ; 
He marks out our duty ; to Him we are to report. 
And what a blessed thing it is for man that he has a 
God to fall back upon. It is that, — God with man, 
which has made every great success since the world 
began. Caesar did not make a great success, nor 
Alexander, nor Bonaparte. They fought without 
God ; they fought against God. Worldly men and 
thoughtless reckon them the great men. They call 
them conquerors. They say their names are im- 
mortal. Can you show me to-day anything either 
of them did ? Where are the empires they founded 
at such cost of treasure and tears ? What good 
thing, dying, have they bequeathed mankind ? The 
humblest man who makes two blades of grass grow 
where one grew before is rightly called a benefactor. 
Were they benefactors ? Bonaparte himself could 
say, that in a half-century a half-page of genei-al 
history would be all that would be given to him, 
while the name of Jesus would continue to grow 
greater and brighter. And yet what were Christ's 
victories, and which, dying, seemed most likely to 
leave a name and a power behind ? Napoleon lived 
for himself. He neglected for his own eternal good 
what he never would have neglected in a battle. 
He had no reserve. God was not with him. Jesus 
lived for God. God overruled all adverse things 
in his life. He could always, did always, fall back 



6 RALLY UPON THE RKSERVE ! 

on Him. God was the never-forgotten power be- 
hind. So Ms defeats became victories. Angela 
crowned him Lord of all. 

Every real work, everything which has survived 
the shock of centuries, everything which has bene- 
fited man has been because the worker recognized 
the need and sought the help of God. He had al- 
ways God as a reserve, in every doubt and duty and 
ti-ouble. And God aided him to do better and wiser 
than he knew. How striking this truth is in the 
Scripture. Moses did not lead out the children of 
Israel from their bondage, and shape his wise laws in 
their behalf and rule them in their barbarous and re- 
bellious wanderings of himself alone. You see him 
going to and fro between the mountain and the peo- 
ple. He shapes the law and moulds the multitude 
as Grod wills. " Thus saith the Lord," is invariably 
the authority for his act. In every perplexity and 
peril he looks to Jehovah. David, though he did 
many sinful things, always came back in lowliest pen- 
itence to his allegiance, and leaned on God, his rod, 
his staff, his shield. Paul's bonds, scourgings, im- 
prisonments, persecutions, were made light through 
the strength that he derived from God, while his 
whole life long Jesus never attempted anything 
without seeking the blessing, without acknowledging 
the aid, of his Father. See liim at the Temptation, 
when the Devil presses him with every cunning 
wile ; see him when the powers of hate and dark- 



RALLT UPON THE RESERVE! 7 

ness have compassed him, and, betrayed by a disciple, 
denied by a friend, deserted by all, he stands at the 
tribunal to receive the fatal decree. Does he stand 
alone, or is there some great reserve of power he- 
hind by which he is sustained, through which he 
conquers? In him, in eacli and all, you see, not 
men self-dependent, self-sufficient, but conscious of, 
and using, that reserve which God in his infinite 
love and mercy vouchsafes to all. He is ever ready 
to help those who seek help of him, to be that all- 
Bustaining, all-conquering power by which a human 
soul is made more than master of the wiles that 
beset him. 

Just as much must you and I iu the work we 
have to do in life lean upon God. That work is 
not to be done without God. He places us here. 
He marks out our duty. To him we must report. 
It will not do to leave him out of the account, to 
go on living just as if there were no God and no 
account to give. Many men do that. What do 
they make of hfe ? Good merchants, farmers, sol- 
diers, successful enough as men count success. But 
these do not make life. They are only certain oc- 
cupations of life, a use of certain powers or facul- 
ties. Life is what the soul is, the part of man that 
cannot die, the part that is called up and questioned 
by and by. Men who are without God do not live. 
They miss all the higher quality and power of life. 
They miss all of that more abundani life which Jesus 



8 RALLY UPON THE RESERVE 



said he had come to bring. God is the centre and 
source of all life, — of the soul as of the tree, the 
ocean as the star. In him we live and move and 
have our being. 

> " Man's business is to seek 

His strength in God alone, — 
And e'en an angel would be weak 
Who trasted in his own." 

I dare say some of you may have been trying the 
experiment of living without God. You have not 
seen what he had to do with your life. You have 
got along, you think, very well vdthout him. But 
has it been so very well, after all ? Are you not, 
in your serious moments, in your troubles, when 
great questions rise, when conflicting duties harass, 
when temptations press, when parting and pain and 
grief come, conscious of weakness ? Do you not 
wish you had some ready, near, sufficient power to 
rely on, — some reserve that, when your own abil- 
ity is exhausted, you can confidently go to ? 

Every man wishes that. At times every man 
feels out toward help, gropes after a stafi" of sup- 
port, a something that shall encourage or hold him 
up, and be to him what he is conscious he cannot 
be to himself In camp you know something of 
this. There are allurements, temptations, about you 
strangely powerful. There are dangers constantly 
threatening you, some of them wholly new, unlike 
those you were exposed to at home, while the old 



KALLl JPON THE RESERVE! 9 

ones get a new power from your changed conditions. 
There is, beside, the longing for home, and anxiety 
about those you love. You cannot bear these alone. 
God has not made you so that you could. The 
temptations will overcome your integrity, dangers 
fill you with apprehension, the thoughts of home eat 
the manly courage out of your hearts. Your com- 
rades can do nothing for you. It is little use to 
go to the chaplain. He may give you a little re- 
lief, a moment's comfort ; but he does not and cannot 
help you to bear, to overcome. Nothing of man 
can : and there is our terrible mistake ! Our re- 
serve — the power greater than ourselves — is not 
in these things in which we are so apt to seek it. 
The man who gets drunk thinks he can take the 
pledge. That is his reserve. He falls back on 
that and feels himself secure. His friends take 
courage. The gambler, the liar, the licentious man, 
fortify themselves in like manner. AU men trying 
to reform themselves seek help from some person, 
circumstance, change, the thing outside themselves, 
the crutch, the staff that supports, not the vital power 
that heals. It will not do. No man is safe so. 
It is still the power of man, or something less than 
man, on which he leans. The power of God is the 
only sure reserve. With that behind him every 
man is safe. 

" Man is naught, is less than naught; 
Thou, our God, art all in all." 



10 RALLY UPON THE RESERVE ! 

The same thing man in every relation and condi- 
tion, however exalted, however humble, always 
needs. We only do not see the need in our com- 
mon daily duties because we have become so well 
satisfied with leaving the God-power out of our 
daily lives. They might be so grand, and we let 
them be so low ! Jesus Christ lived to show what 
life is, and no man lives except as he has that which 
was in Him who said, " I can of mine own self do 
nothing," and who showed, under every duty and in 
every trial, that he was not trying to stand alone, but 
looking back toward, leaning upon, a Divine strength. 

Do not you do anything less. God is to be found 
of any who will honestly seek him, and to be known 
by any who honestly try to love him. He is not 
a great power away off, too much occupied in great 
things to care for little ones, but he counts every 
hair, sees every sparrow that falls, and is most at 
home in the heart of the most childlike believer. 
He is our first, best, constant friend. He is the 
reserve on which every luiman soul in its want and 
peril may fall back and be secure. INIen may go on 
for a long time in seeming prosperity and become 
confident and self-exultant, like skirmishers, elated at 
their little gain, pushing forward into the very arms 
of the waiting, wary foe. That will be the moment 
of disaster unless the wise commander have near 
and ready a reserve, in time to check the onslaught 
and roll back the assault. So, the time comes to 
every man — it comes again and again to most — 



EALLT UPON THE RESERVE! 11 

when trials, dangers, temptations, crowd upon and 
would crush him. They are apt to find him self-con- 
fident, presuming upon the past power or gain, — 
without a reserve. It is the 'presumfption that con- 
quers the man rather than the temptation or the 
trial. But let these come to one who has a reserve 
of faith in God, who has not, at the emergency, to 
feel about, if haply he may find Him ; let them come 
to one who has a consciousness of His nearness, and 
His wUling support. Pressed, weary, faltering, he 
will quit every lesser support, the reeds that bend 
and break ; he will rally upon his reserve, — God, 
— and be safe. 

You know that in no one thing does a general 
more surely show his skill than in the selection, the 
position, the handling of his reserve. It must be 
Buificient, it must be well disciplined, it must be near, 
it must be easily moved. At any moment it may 
be needed for the sternest duty. The fate of the 
day, of a cause, of a people, may hinge upon it. 
Many a defeat has been disgraceful because the re- 
serve was too far away, was not ordered up at the 
right moment, or proved not the stufi' for the crisis 
hour ; many a struggle, that long hung trembling in 
the balance, has been turned to decisive victory 
by the fi-esh squadrons marching to the front, re- 
lieving the shattered and weary columns. You 
remember how Waterloo was won. And every 
conflict of yours may be a Waterloo, — a decisive 
victory, if God is near. 



12 RALLY UPON THE RESERVE! 

In the great life-battle we all must wage, it be- 
comes us never to overlook the fact of probable dis- 
aster, however brave and self-assured we may be, 
if we have not a near, sufficient reserve in God. 
Make him as your " next of kin," — the Friend be- 
fore all friends, to whom you not only may go, but 
do go for light and strength and guidance always. 
Then in the crisis hours, — the moments when the 
powers of iU all seem mustered, the moments wliich 
decide the weal or woe of years, the good or the bad 
of all time, the joy or misery of Eternity, — you wiU 
have no fear, no anxious searching, no painful wait- 
ing or doubt, but God with you and in you, the power 
beyond all powers, the reserve to insure you victory. 

" My God with me in every place 1 

Firmly does the promise stand, 
On land or sea, with present grace 

Still to aid us near at hand. 
If you ask, ' Who is with thee ? ' 
God is here, — my God with me ! 

" My God for me ! I dare to say, — 

God the portion of my soul ! 
Nor need I tremble in dismay 

When around me troubles roll. 
If yon ask, ' What comforts thee? ' 
It is this, — God is for me. 

*' In life, in death, with God bo near, 

Every battle I shall win. 
Shall boldly press through danger hepft, 

Triumph over every sin I 
' What ! ' you say, ' a victor be? * 

No, not I, but God in me! " 



Army Series.] [No. 20. 

MUSTERED OUT! 



A FEW WORDS WITH THE RANK AND FH^E, 
AT PARTING. 



BY 



JOHN F. W. WARE. 



BOSTON: 

AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION. 

1865. 



MUSTEEED OUT! 



Well, friends, the war is over, ended as every 
loyal man knew it would end. Tlie good cause has 
triumphed. There is no more any rebellion. Se- 
cession is dead. It has no resurrection. Through 
your patient fidelity it is that peace returns, , and 
though our maidens come not with songs and dances 
out to welcome you as warriors, though we may 
not manifest that exuberance of joy you may have 
hoped to witness and we had hoped to feel, — for 
the shadow of a great woe is upon us, — our hearts 
go out to you with deep, unspoken gratitude. You 
have saved the Republic. You have restored its 
integrity. You have effaced the one spot upon its 
fair name. Your toil, your blood, the blood of the 
brave who have fallen, are the seeds of the new 
civilization. The night is passed. The day dawns. 

The war is over, and you are mustered out! Ah! 
Low you have longed for the time, — in weary 
march, in comfortless bivouac, in pitiless storm and 
cold, on exposed picket, on the bed of the hospital ! 
Through the years, it has been the day-dream and 

No. 20. 



4 MUSTERRD OUT ! 

the night-dream. Hope has drooped as it diilayed, 
the whole heart grown faint, and it has taken all the 
loyalty and all the manhood sometimes to carry you 
on bravely. Now the end is come ; the war is 
over. You are mustered out ! How the tidings 
have made glad the dear old far-away home, — the 
home you left so sadly, the home that has been so 
true to you, the home that has been your memory 
and your hope, your guiding and your guardian an- 
gel ! How the good wife has grown yoiing again 
under its charm ! how wild with impatience are the 
children become ! how eloquent is ihe dear face of 
the mother with its alternate sn./l^j and tear ! how 
pride swells up in the heart o- the father, — pride 
that he speaks not, but keej j there ! how brothers 
and sisters long to clasp j da once more ! O the 
wealth of love and joy that throbs for and waits "you 
in those homes whose long and patient and wasting 
agonies only the good God has witnessed, whose 
silent martyrdom, witL -ut monument or record, he 
has accepted and bk sed. Joy. joy in the farm- 
house ! joy, joy by thi hillside ! joy, joy in the city ! 
joy, joy east and \vt -t, through the whole land ! 
The terror is over. The war is at end. Sweet 
peace is come, and the loved ones are coming, — 
mustered out ! 

Thank God ! Thank God, too, that you have 
lived until now ; thank God that you have had part 
in this great work of regeneration. Comrades have 



MUSTERED OUT ! 5 

fallen. The green sod covers some of the noblest 
and best. There are homes not to be made glad as 
youi's, which shall watch and wait and listen in 
vain,- — homes sad and dark and dreary, to whom 
the peace-anthem is as a funei'al dirge. Their loved 
ones come not back again. They haxe been " mus' 
tered out ! " 

In the years that are gone I have ventured to 
tell you a tew things that I thought might help you 
in camp and in hospital. I feel it a shame to my 
manhood that I have not been bodily with you, 
wliile I thank God that some words of mine have 
found their way out to you in proof that I have 
been with you in spirit. There are a few things I 
want to say to you now, for I want you to make 
the going home a thing of as much joy as those 
waiting for you expect it to be. The mere excite- 
ment and sensation of return will quickly be over. 
That kind of gladness is fleeting. The novelty with 
them and with you will pass. Life cannot wait, and 
treat you as guests. You go back to live, to fill 
old places of duty, to take up old responsibilities, to 
become again husbands and parent?, neighbors and 
citizens, and every one expects more of you in every 
sphere because of the discipline and experience of 
your service. We are all looking for a new order 
of manhood to spring out of the war. We expect 
to find you ennobled, and we trust that the joy of 
return and of meeting is to be increased and made 



6 MUSTERED OUT ! 

perfect and perennial by the fidelity with which you 
shall take hold of duties, new and old. 

Now it is not going to be easy to set yourselves 
down in the old places, to the old tasks. Soldier 
life has been a life of excitement, of change and un- 
certainty. It is a very unnatural life, and in order 
to become used to and bend yourself to it, you have 
had to give up some things that belong to a man. 
The soldier is made at the expense of the man. You 
must now resume your manhood, get yourselves 
back to the old attitude, and learn to accept and to 
work under the old, and somewhat tame, conditions. 
I suspect it is a terrible time of trial for the soldier 
when he has got through seeing his friends and tell- 
ing his story, and he ceases to be the one centre of 
interest, and wakes to the sense that he is only the 
ordinary man he used to be, with the ordinary de- 
mands of life upon him. It is something of a shock, 
followed by a weary disinclination to take hold of 
anything, a morbid, restless desire for the wild, ex- 
citing life he has left. That is a crisis to test and 
try your manhood. Once pass that, and the rest is 
comparatively easy ; yield to it, and it is the first 
step in the breaking up of all persistent and useful 
habit and labor. Let me beg you, as you value 
your own happiness and that of those who love you, 
to resist with your utmost power this temptation. 
Do not give it any time to grow upon you. It will 
require a little real courage and patience. Go to 



MUSTERED OUT ! 7 

worh at once, and by work keep at bay the busy 
devil, who may still annoy, but cannot conquer yoil. 
Take rest so long as you really need it, and it is 
healthy. Beyond that, rest not a moment at your 
peril ! 

I think it is going to be somewhat difficult for 
you to resume charge of yourselves. It is a strange 
and complete change that the routine of the army 
works. No one, who has not witnessed it, will be- 
lieve how quiokly a man, brought under command 
and compelled to do as otlier men tell him, loses the 
desire and the faculty to do for himself, and submits 
to the decision of the merest stripling, provided he 
be a military superior. It is strange what power 
there comes to reside in a shoulder-strap. Why, 
men who have been leaders in church, and society, 
and politics, at home, in the army have lost, through 
habit, the ability or the will to care for themselves 
in very simple things. It is really sad to see how 
army discipline has had the power of crushing out 
the individual. And yet this is, to an extent, a 
necessity. The individual must be sunk, must be 
held back, or there is no army. At first, our army 
was little better than a debating-club. Every man 
wanted to talk, to give opinion ; no one wanted to 
obey, and so, disaster. At last, it became a thor- 
ough-working machine, — a compact unit under one 
mind, and then, victory. Implicit obedience is tlie 
one law, and men held under command, knowing 



8 MUSTERED OUT ! 

that the command must be obeyed, living and mov- 
ing, day by day, upon other men's decisions, lose, 
not only the habit, but, it would seem, the power, 
of acting for themselves. Surgeons have told me 
that they had to watch their men just like chil- 
di'cu ; officers have spoken in surprise at the matters 
brought to them, such as no one, at home, would 
think of asking advice about. Again and again 
have I encountered this helplessness, in ways some- 
times ludicrous : as when, in a strange city, at mid- 
night, a perfectly sober soldier begged for my escort 
lest he should be robbed of his pay, which he showed 
me. You, probably, are conscious of this in your- 
selves, — or have, at least, seen it in others. 

Not a few fear that peace is to let loose upon the 
land a horde of men in whom this habit of implicit 
obedience has destroyed self-respect, — who have 
become so enervated by years of unquestioning 
obedience as to be unable to resume care over 
themselves. This is a very lamentable prospect, 
and deplorable indeed would it be if they who have 
broken the bonds for others were, by that act, to be 
themselves enslaved. I will not, I cannot, believe 
it. What you want, is to be conscious of, and set 
yourselves to recover from, the false position in 
which war has placed you. As citizens, you must 
resume the habit of self-mastery which, as soldiers, 
you have laid aside. It was your privilege, your 
pride, before the war, to think, to act, for yourselves. 



MUSTERED OUT 



to call no man master, to believe in your own su- 
premacy. Even a little too self-willed, self-confi- 
dent, you were. That was your characteristic as 
Americans, and, though it has its drawbacks, that 
has made America ; and I am not going to believe 
that you who went out great, strong, self-reliant, 
self-respecting men, are going to come back to us 
all broken down in integrity, puny, and weak, and 
helpless. I do not share the fear, but I put you on 
your guard. If your service have taken anything 
of your self-reliance or self-respect, see to it at once. 
No man can do anything if his self-respect be gone, 
or even impaired. No man has any reliance if he 
cannot rely on himself. 

I am one of those who have always felt that the 
mere fighting is the least of the dangers into which 
secession has plunged us. That has required a cer- 
tain class of courage, called out and established one 
phase of national manhood. Peace has always its 
dangers and trials, and this peace has many, both 
new and grave. Our country enters a new career. 
For the first time she is really a nation, a power in 
and to herself, as well as a power recognized among 
the peoples of the earth. The root of death that was 
in her, whose fibres penetrated and pervaded every 
part of her system, is cut up, plucked out, cast away. 
It is a new history she is to make. To-day opens 
the grandest chapter in the annals of peace, — the 
record not of the profession, but the fact of liberty. 



10 MUSTERED OUT I 

" Sounding and glittering generality " no more, it 
has been graved by the point of the bayonet so as 
the ages cannot destroy it, that the assertion that 
" all men are born with certain inalienable rights " 
is a truth indisputable and immortal. Glory he to 
God! But the truth must not be left alone, it must 
not be blazoned upon banners and monuments, and, 
backward-looking, time must not tell of it as of a 
thing once established. To be the immortal thing 
it is, you, and we all, must watch it, forward it, live 
it, — not make free others, but be free ourselves ; 
and there is a great and grand and imperative work, 
in the days of reconstruction, to be done in this di- 
rection. The mere truth will not make free, but 
we must work out freedom by the truth. I feel 
that there are sore hours of travail before the Re- 
public yet, but I look with hope still to you, and 
whatever selfishness of party and trick of poUticians 
may endeavor, in your hands should be the great 
conservative power to uphold and protect that for 
which you have so suffered. 

" Mustei'ed out of the service " is not mustered 
out of duty. Duty is life's demand and life's toil. 
Nobly have you stood up to the duty of the hour. 
Never had country juster cause to be proud of her 
eons, — never had sons more cause to exult in their 
country. Out from the darkness has she issued in- 
to a marvellous light, — out from her shame is she 
come into abounding glory. Under God you are 



MUSTERED OUT ! 11 

her saviours. Safely through these perils, He, by 
you, has brought her. But your work is not yet 
done. Mustered out of her service you are, not yet 
mustered out of Ilis ! The great, broad dcinaiid of 
God, which is Duty, is still upon you. Every man 
is wanted. All things are to be made new. The 
era of reconsti-uction is come, — reconstruction, that 
beginning in the man shall spread till it reach and 
leaven the law and the life of the nation. It is a 
new day, and you must go back to the old home not 
so much to resume the old life as to assume a new 
one, — deeper, broader, higher, nobler, truer, freer, 
— a life of firmer root and grander aspiration, to be 
checked by no timidity or compromise, or half at- 
tainment, but to press on till soul and nation, rid of 
every thrall, stand out in the power and glory, and 
honor and immortality, God gives His perfect 
things. 

I hope to see the government — or better, the 
people — up to the mark of its duty toward all of 
you who have so suffered as to be cut otf from the 
ordinary, active pursuits of life. I wish Congress 
would sanction the wearing of the old corps badges 
by all, so that we may recognize you that are 
whole, as well as you that are maimed, when we 
meet you. As to the wounded, the crippled, the 
sick, I do not want it to be recorded of this genera- 
tion that its heroes, having given their best to it, 
were rewai'ded with the alms-house, or were left to 



12 MUSTERED OUT ! 

beg or compelled to steal. I want the nation to be 
just. I do not ask it to be grateful or generous. 
The demand is one of simple justice. Every one 
who has been honest and brave and temperate and 
long-suffering, — who can show in his body the 
mark and badge of his service, who cannot care for 
himself, — I want to see made comfortable at the 
nation's charge, not supported as a burden and an 
idler, but in some way that shall keep up the tone 
of his manhood, give him adequate occupation and 
foster his self-respect. It is a project worthy the 
immediate and the broadest thought of the wise. I 
trust that the right thing in the right way will be 
planned and done at once, — something grander than 
England or France has conceived, something wor- 
thy of ourselves, of the cause and of you, which 
shall elevate the recipients while it ennobles the 
donors, — some grand, all-embracing, nationalinstitU' 
tion, branching from a centre out into every State, 
dedicated to the memory of Abraham Lincoln, the 
martyr. I want to see no unmeaning stone raided 
to him, no bronze or marble, no over-endowing of 
his family, — but a monument that shall pass to the 
generations, a witness of the nation's justice to 
you, a nation's respect to him. 

The seed of liberty God gave the fathers they 
planted and watered, and the water wherewith they 
watered it was blood. It had wilted in a dry and 
arid soil. It needed water, — and again the water is 



MUSTERED OUT ! 13 

blood, — blood so costly, so dear, so abundant, that 
we have shrunk again and again, and cried " How 
long, O God, how long ! " The fair young boy, the 
grave, gray-haired man, the humble private, the 
trusted leader, they are gone, and, as crowning our 
holocaust, — alas that it must be ! — our great- 
hearted, loyal, loving President. What a baptism 
that we knew not of must this our cause be bap- 
tized with ! How goodly and how grand the noble 
martyr host who in this great conflict have been 
mustered out. 

Friends, farewell! Life is yours. Let life be 
duty, — then, when mustered out of the service here, 
like those who have honorably fallen in the struggle, 
you shall be mustered in at the calling of the new 
roll in the new kingdom ! 



il - Jl.3 0. 



^^-^^ 





"^.^ ^^" '^Z •^■■"^^^ %.^ ^^ 














'o V 








^^-^^ 






o 











^^ .-. ^^ ' 



^°-^^. 




•^0^ 

.-^o. 



.^* ^^ ^ -^^ 







* ^^ 










o V 



.0 







^°V 




". -^^0^ 





4 O 




V^ .L*^ 









• .<^ 














^0- 




"-^-^^ 






















>^ o 










I* 



•^ 



DOBBS BROS. 

LIBRARY BINDING S^ 





iO-r. 




>. ^ «?^ * 

♦ ST. AUGUSTINE • /}y 
, I- /S^m FLA. ^ "i 












